


When All That You Touch Tumbles Down

by kbs_was_here



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:22:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 49
Words: 223,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kbs_was_here/pseuds/kbs_was_here
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The summer after graduation from McKinley leaves Rachel Berry wanting to make one final collection of Lima memories before heading off to New York and NYADA. Meanwhile, Quinn Fabray is convinced she'll never make it out of Ohio. This is a romance, first disguised as tentative friendship. This a story of what happens when two people can't help the fact that they're made for each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. RBB's Book Club @ The Lima Bean

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on tumblr as an RP, but it stands alone as a fic in itself. This is a repost of what had initially been put up on ffnet and was co-authored with vondrunkaton and professorspork. It lives here now.
> 
> Happy reading. :)

Rachel’s early, because she wants time to prepare the space for her book club. Yes, it’s just an introductory meeting and, yes, Quinn’s likely the only one to show up, because no one else has sent any verification that they’ll be attending.

Her paperback copy of Carrie sits squarely in front of her, and she’s not sure if she should place the page with the discussion questions in the center or off to the side. She wonders if Quinn will make fun of her for going to so much trouble.  
  
The space, by the way, is the table in the back corner of the Lima Bean. Whenever anyone approaches the empty chair across from her, she smiles at them until it’s clear they’re not someone who simply failed to RSVP, but they’re someone who’s about to ask if they can take it for their own table, and then she has to say, “I’m actually waiting for someone.”  
  
She really hopes Quinn shows up.  
  
Quinn sits in the parking lot for at least five minutes before she moves to get out of her car, and even then, she’s not sure this is a good idea. On one hand, there is a good chance that it will just be her and Rachel Berry at this “book club,” and that thought is one that, a few years ago, would have made her laugh. On the other hand, the summer so far has been horribly boring and outside of running with Santana and Brittany, she’s had nothing to do to occupy her time. And Carrie is her favorite novel, after all. How bad could this be?  
  
She sees Rachel in the back corner as soon as she steps inside, but she shows no indication of it for some reason even she doesn’t understand. She orders her coffee, and she imagines Rachel fidgeting and glancing at her watch, even though she’s only five minutes late. She figures that somehow, Rachel will make some comment about the “importance of punctuality, Quinn,” and she rolls her eyes as the barista hands over her coffee.  
  
Then, armed with a steaming cup of caffeine and her very favorite novel, she turns and braces herself for an evening with Rachel Berry.  
  
It takes everything in Rachel not to flag Quinn down the second she walks in the door. Instead, she waits while the other girl orders her coffee and busies herself by re-reading the list of questions on the page that sits in the center. At the last second, she moves it to the side, because she doesn’t want Quinn to set her drink down on the paper, either by accident or on purpose.  
  
She sips her soy chai and watches as Quinn finally receives her drink. When she finally approaches, Rachel smiles at her, despite the fact that they’re now a few minutes behind schedule. “Hello, Quinn. I’m delighted you could make it.”  
  
  
“Rachel,” Quinn greets as calmly as possible and sinks into the empty chair across from Rachel. There’s an awkward silence, which she fills by sipping delicately on her caramel macchiato. Rachel’s hand is hovering over a paper listing what Quinn assumes is topic for discussion, and Quinn wonders vaguely what exactly a girl like Rachel would want to discuss about a book like Carrie.  
  
It seems as though Rachel is expecting her to say something, so after a moment she murmurs, “Is anyone else coming?”  
  
“Unfortunately, no, I don’t think so.” Rachel pushes the air out of her lungs in a sigh as she looks from Quinn to the door. “It seems we’re the only two interested in summer reading and literary discussion.” She fixes her gaze on Quinn’s cup. “What did you order?”  
  
As much as she feels she’s learned about Quinn in the last couple years, she knows there’s plenty that remains a mystery. And beverages seem like a safe topic to explore.  
  
“Caramel macchiato,” Quinn answers without thinking, and then she allows herself a moment. It’s not surprising that no one else she knows is interested in reading over the summer, especially since they’ve graduated. Quinn knew that it would be the two of them. She knew it, but that doesn’t make it any easier not to just mumble some excuse and throw her bag over her shoulder on the way out the door. Instead, she fiddles with the pendant around her neck. It’s not the cross she always used to wear, and she drops her hand to her lap instantly the moment she thinks that touching it might make Rachel ask why.  
  
She nods towards Rachel’s paper and smiles, but even she can feel that it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Always prepared, I see,” she says, and takes another sip of coffee.  
  
  
Rachel definitely notices the action, but she lets the conversation topic stay centered on the book club itself, since that’s why they’re meeting in the first place. “Having a pre-determined course of action ensures that we’ll be able to keep our discussion in motion.” She realizes it’s a little silly, though, if it’s just the two of them. “It’s not entirely necessary that we use the review sheet, however. And if you have your own points you’d like to cover, I’d be more than happy to add them to it for next time.”  
  
Quinn fights the urge to roll her eyes — she’s been doing that entirely too much lately — but she feels her smile falter anyway when she says, “Honestly, Rachel, can’t we just talk about what we’re reading?” As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she bites her lip because, god, she’s trying so hard to get away from this person she’s become but there isn’t really anything to replace her with. She takes another sip of coffee and tries to sound as friendly as possible. “I’m actually curious about what’s on your list, but I didn’t— I’m not—”  
  
And just like that, there is nothing that she wants to say, so she just kind of looks helplessly at Rachel and hopes for the best.  
  
The truth of it is, Rachel’s not used to someone wanting to just talk about something that genuinely interests her, especially if it isn’t performance related. Even while she was dating Finn, she had to first lay enough groundwork for him to follow if she wanted him to keep up with her.  
  
Quinn’s stated curiosity about the list suddenly makes her self-conscious about it and she lets her hand fall on the page. “They’re just about the author’s introduction and any expectations about the narrative. Considering we’ve both previously read the text, we can forgo most of them.” She shrugs and continues. “I really was hoping for a larger turnout.”  
  
Rachel’s reticence to discuss her review sheet is surprisingly disappointing, and Quinn feels her eyebrows lift. She says nothing about the list and asks instead, “Who did you invite?” There’s a small moment when Rachel glances up at her, and she feels like maybe this isn’t the most awkward situation she’s ever found herself in, but then Rachel offers her a nervous smile and just like that, she’s right back where she started, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag and a half-assed excuse swirling around in her head.  
  
“I sent Facebook invites to any former members co-glee clubbers who enjoy recreational reading,” was Rachel’s polite way of saying she hadn’t bothered with Puck or Finn. “I also posted about it on my MySpace, but I’ve noticed a serious lack of activity on that particular network, so I doubt anyone even read it.”  
  
She had also noticed a decrease in her overall comment count, but she assumed it was possibly due to some kind of process where the site was deleting comments that had passed an expiration date.  
  
So Brittany and Santana were invited to this little meeting. Quinn makes a mental note to prepare herself for a possible run-in with Santana later.  
  
“Yeah, MySpace is kind of the internet wasteland, these days. Why don’t you just delete your account?” Quinn wonders if Rachel noticed that all of Quinn’s comments have been removed from her videos, but she would rather be an eyewitness to the freezing over of hell itself before she would ever broach that subject willingly. And then, a ridiculous thought hits her and she says before she can stop herself, “Can you imagine if the internet had been around when Carrie was in high school? The whole world might have gone up in flames, instead of just the town.”  
  
It’s this kind of dark thinking that makes her feel like she should just never leave her house. The novel was certainly graphic enough without adding internet bullying and worldwide destruction at the hands of a raged telekinetic lunatic to the mix. For some reason,that thought strikes Quinn as funny, and she hides her smile behind her coffee cup.  
  
“I feel I should still exercise all my options, while they’re available,” Rachel says. “I have a lot of history with MySpace. Also, it was still on my last round of head shots that went sent out and I’d rather not remove my profile, just in case.”  
  
She considers Quinn’s comment about Carrie. “It’s possible that she wouldn’t have felt so isolated if she’d had some kind of virtual social outlet. She also could have used several online references to find counterpoints on a lot of the information her mother presented as absolute truth. Instead of worldwide destruction, it may have simply resulted in the makings of a wildly successful blogger.”  
  
There was a lot to this thought and now Rachel’s mind was teeming with possibilities.  
  
“You don’t think that the hate that happens on the internet would have made Carrie’s psychological condition that much worse? Regardless of the information available to her about religion, she still would have had her telekinesis to deal with.” Quinn tries to imagine Carrie White sitting alone in her room, alternately flexing her newly developing mental powers and googling phrases like mothers who lock daughters in their ‘prayer closets,’ and she cringes. There is no way to turn that into a blog that normal people would want to read.  
  
“It’s a moot point anyway,” Quinn adds, almost as an afterthought, “because there’s no way that Margaret White would have allowed the internet into her home.” This is dangerous ground, and Quinn feels the sweat on the back of her neck. She tries to blame the coffee, but she knows that this is all just too close to home for it to be that easy.  
  
“I think it would have made her feel less alone.” But Rachel knows, first hand, what it feels like to experience the sudden shift from joy to absolute distress when you realize that your inbox is full of comment notifications only leads you to a slew of hateful messages from people you barely even know.  
  
It’s become much more difficult, over time, to picture the Quinn Fabray who’s currently fidgeting in the seat across from her as the same Quinn Fabray who laughed every single time Rachel was hit with a slushy. Rachel certainly hasn’t forgotten, but it’s impossible not to notice that Quinn seems like a very different person, her ever-present habitual eye-rolling aside.  
  
It’s too much. Quinn knows that it’s too much, and yet she can do nothing to stop it. It’s like watching Carrie shuffle through town in slow motion, inevitable and full of force, pulling down live power lines and showering everything she’s ever known in sparks and fire. This is too close to actual experiences, and the way Rachel is refusing to look at her now, those baleful eyes turned downwards, the way her voice turns quiet on the word “alone.”  
  
There isn’t a word for what Quinn is feeling right now. The ceiling is pressing down on her; she can’t possibly suck any more air into her lungs. The loneliness that Carrie White must have felt that finally led her to slaughter an entire town of people she knew… Quinn makes a noise in the back of her throat and wonders for the hundredth time why on earth she agreed to come to this meeting.  
  
Quinn’s not saying anything and everything that pops into Rachel’s head feels like the wrong thing. She wants to keep discussing the novel, because this is a book club meeting and that would be appropriate protocol, however it seems that neither of them realized just how glaringly obvious of a choice it was for the both of them. She has no idea how or even if Quinn has coped with the elements of their previous interactions, in the days before the New Directions. Rachel herself has learned to forgive and move on, because she can’t afford to waste the excess effort and emotion on the past.  
  
As a performer, she has to live in the present and let the trials and tribulation of yesterday serve as a place to find motivation, when she needs it.  
  
Which is why, more than sticking to the planned agenda of the evening, Rachel wants Quinn to stay, to talk, to hang out. This isn’t something they ever do and she doesn’t want to let it go, just yet.  
  
So, Rachel steers them toward a complete change of subject. “You never said what kind of pictures you like to take. With your new camera.”  
  
Quinn wants it to be that easy, but she’s never been good at having friends. Even when she actually had them, it was just a by-product of being on the Cheerios or a way to fill some popularity quota. She hasn’t really had any real friends since… well. Since her parents threw her out.  
  
She knows that her mother is trying to make it up to her, but it really can’t ever just go away, can it? A brand new camera isn’t going to undo months of being homeless and afraid for both her own future and for her baby’s. God, she can’t just smile and hug it out and say that everything is fine between them because it’s not, and it might not ever be. She isn’t Rachel Berry.  
  
She was wrong, before. These are the kind of dark thoughts that should keep her from leaving her house. In the end, she ends up just shrugging and looking apologetically at Rachel. She wants to have a friend, even if it is someone she’s always thought she hated. She wants to tell Rachel that this summer is for trying new things, that she’s looking for herself in as many places as she can. That she lost the best thing that has ever happened to her, but there has to be something else for Quinn Fabray, somewhere in this world.  
  
There are so many things she wants to say to anyone who will listen. In the end, what she ends up saying is, “I don’t really know yet. Landscapes, maybe.”  
  
“Really? I assumed you might be more into human interest photography.” Rachel’s not even sure why she thinks that. Maybe because Quinn’s always on the outskirts, watching everyone else from behind the pages of a book. “I can’t imagine there are a lot of landscapes worth capturing around here. Where do you usually take them?”  
  
This is already sounding a lot like Twenty Questions, but Rachel finds she still has to remind herself to converse with people instead of just talking at them and questions tend to help with that. But Quinn looks like… well, she looks like someone who can only handle so many inquiries in an allotted amount of time.  
  
Quinn finds herself smiling wryly and biting out, “Yeah, I’m not as interested in humans as you’d think I’d be,” and at Rachel’s ever-widening eyes fills in the silence with, “There really aren’t many landscapes around here that interest me, no. Right now I’ve been trying to focus on details. The contents of a bag, the thread of a dress. The things behind the people. It’s safer.”  
  
She doesn’t really know what she means by that, but she does know that she’s starting to feel like she’s on trial for something, and maybe she is. The ceiling is still pressing down, and the back of her neck is still damp with sweat, and this is Rachel Berry she’s talking to, for god’s sake. The one merit of being here with Rachel ought to be that she doesn’t have to talk about herself. So it’s out of self-preservation rather than interest when she asks, “What about you? Big plans this fall?”  
  
Rachel nods. As much as she wants to be a good conversation partner, she can’t ignore an open invitation to talk about her own life.  
  
“Yes. And I still kind of can’t believe it’s all happening. Not even just going to New York, but the fact that we’ve graduated… I’ve been waiting for this part of my life to begin for so long and now that it’s approaching so quickly, it’s thrilling but also a little terrifying. If only because everything will be so different.” Absently, she taps her fingers over the page of questions. “It’s why I want to do things likes this… because as much as I’m ready to leave Lima, I want to give it all a proper goodbye.”  
  
It sounds so dramatic when it actually comes out of her mouth and that’s not even a surprise, but Quinn has this way of making her wish she could sound… normal. She knows that’s silly and her therapist would ask why that’s important to her, especially given that Rachel thrives on being extraordinary.  
  
Maybe she just wishes Quinn would realize that Rachel’s not the only remarkable person sitting at this table.  
  
This territory is better, but it’s still dangerous. All it would take for Quinn to finally break down and bolt is one tsk and a misguided question from Rachel about why on earth Quinn hadn’t applied to any colleges —none, Quinn?!?!? And she doesn’t want to bolt because in some bizarre way, it’s actually kind of nice to have someplace to be right now, even if it is just the Lima Bean and even if it is just Rachel.  
  
The only thing Quinn can think of to keep the focus off of her is— “NYADA, right? And Kurt’s going too?”  
  
“Yes. But we’re unable to room together, because freshman have assigned roommates in order to encourage social integration.” Rachel folds both hands around her cup of chai. “I’m honestly a little nervous that whoever’s paired with me won’t be compatible with my personality type.”  
  
She picks up the drink and takes a sip, but it’s lukewarm by now and not nearly as appealing as it was twenty minutes ago.  
  
“It seems like everyone who goes to NYADA would have a very basic interest in performing in common. How different could your personalities possibly be?” Quinn absently wonders what Rachel’s life would be like in New York — what anyone’s life would be like in New York. She thinks of Carrie White and wonders if they hadn’t doused her with pig’s blood at the prom if she would’ve gotten out. If she could’ve been okay.  
  
If it’s awkward for her, sitting here, talking about New York and roommates and social integration, she doesn’t notice for once in her life. The idea of a manic Carrie White stalking around New York has her completely occupied, and if she weren’t so distracted, she might realize that she’s relaxed her grip on the strap of her bag and that the ceiling doesn’t seem quite so low anymore.  
  
“According to that theory, Santana and I should be able to share a living space.” Rachel shakes her head and nudges her cup aside. “I think you and I both know that wouldn’t end well.” She imagines what it would be like, living with Santana, and decides it would probably be an exercise in learning how to quite literally sleep with one eye open.  
  
“I applied for a single, but the waiting list is quite long. Daddy says it will be a character building experience to meet someone new and have to share close quarters like that. And while I agree with the sentiment, I’m still concerned that… well, that they won’t like me.” Because, even after all the growth she’s made since sophomore year, after making friends and learning how to better take social cues, after all that she still worries that people simply won’t like her. She can handle jealousy over her talent (which, really, is to be expected, especially when she’s in the spotlight), but she can’t handle the idea of someone hating her for no reason at all.  
  
“Is that the worst thing in the world, people not liking you? I mean, it’s not like you’re going to New York to make friends. You’re going there to be successful.” She knows it sounds harsh, but she doesn’t soften her tone. “I’ve always kind of thought of it as an advantage. If you don’t let people in, they can’t hold you back.”  
  
“You’re right. It wouldn’t be the worst.” Quinn has a good point and Rachel actually appreciates that there doesn’t seem to be any question about her inevitable success. “But I do think it will be easier to manage being away from home in one of the world’s largest cities if I’m not constantly at odds with my roommate.”  
  
“I can see how you’d want to believe that,” Quinn tells her, and she means it. For a girl like Rachel, navigating New York city alone for the first time would be much easier with a friend there to offer support. But easy and successful are not the same things. “We both know that you’re deluding yourself, Rachel. I know you. And you’re at your best when you’re fighting to prove yourself. If things are easy… well. We both know that’s not the environment you thrive in.”  
  
She hopes that Rachel will take her words at face value — she’s honestly not trying to be a bitch, not anymore. Some things have just always come easy to her, and being brutally honest is one of them. Besides, if Rachel Berry can’t make something of herself… well. No one can.  
  
Rachel frowns and raises her eyes to meet Quinn’s. “I don’t consider being optimistic a delusion.” It’s not that Quinn’s even wrong about any of it. It’s that Quinn claims to know her.  
  
“I feel that I’ll still be quite challenged, given the competitive environment at NYADA, as well as adjusting to life in the city. I know I’ll already be spending plenty of time with Kurt, but I’d like to have more than one ally when I’m thrust into the land of the unknown.”  
  
“Rachel, I didn’t mean— Of course I hope things go well for you in New York.” There doesn’t seem to be any more she can say; the damage is done, so she just sips at her coffee and glances at her wristwatch. This entire evening is a disaster.  
  
“I feel we’ve probably covered as much of an introduction about the book as we can, if you have somewhere else to be,” Rachel says as she lifts her cell phone to check the time herself. In her fantasy version of the evening, they spent so much time in discussion that they had to make a second beverage purchase, just to justify the time they spent taking up a table. That clearly isn’t going to be the case.  
  
Quinn doesn’t want to sigh. She just hates herself sometimes for being who she is. She said it herself — it’s easier to not let people in. Out loud, she says, “Yeah, okay. Good first meeting,” and she honestly doesn’t know if will be the last. She doesn’t play well with others; she never has. This time, the bag makes it onto her shoulder, and she’s on her feet before she can look even more foolish. “Uh, let me know when the next meeting is, I guess.”  
  
Some people are just meant to keep to themselves, she thinks as she throws her half empty caramel macchiato in the trash can.  
  
Rachel’s accustomed to being the one making the grand exits, so she’s a little surprised when Quinn leaves the table. She wants to call out after her, but if Quinn Fabray knows her, then she knows enough about Quinn to realize it really won’t do any good.  
  
So, she lets her go and hopes she’ll reply to the message Rachel sends her later.


	2. Sheets N Potential Friendship N Things

Rachel unfolds the paper she’s just slipped out of her purse and looks at the printed photo on the page. It’s of a dorm room at NYADA. There’s no way to know if the all of the rooms looks like this or if they all follow the same bland color scheme, but it’s the best she can do. Besides, she’s not buying today, just assessing her options. And Sheets N Things has plenty of them.  
  
She wants a change, something different from her bedroom at home. Something that says she’s mature but still full of youthful vibrancy. Something that shows that she has taste, but isn’t pretentious. Something with a thread count that doesn’t make her legs itch.  
  
Quinn hugs the box to her chest as she glides toward the checkout. She’s wanted one of those single cup coffee makers for a long time now. Does it say something negative about her, that she prefers making her coffee one cup at a time? Is it some sort of indicator of how isolated she’s been since the end of school? She rounds the corner to cut through the bedding section and comes to a dead stop.  
  
“Rachel?”  
  
Rachel barely processes the fact that someone’s saying her name, because she’s staring so intently at the two packages of pillowcases in front of her. She drags her gaze upward and sees Quinn. “Which of these reminds you more of me?” In one hand, she holds up a deep purple pillowcase, in the other, she holds something that looks like a blue and green paisley pattern.  
  
It’s only after she asks the question that she realizes the appropriate response is, “Hi.”  
  
This is unexpected. The last time Quinn saw Rachel was at the book club, and… yeah. That did not go well. Still, Quinn can’t help but smile a little at Rachel’s tendency to just dive in to whatever she’s doing. And if that happens to be roping Quinn into selecting bedsheets in the middle of a Sheets N Things… Quinn’s eyebrows knit at the thought and then her smile fades to a frown when she really thinks about what Rachel has asked her.  
  
How the hell should she know which sheets remind her of Rachel? She’s one hundred percent certain that she has never given the first thought to what type of bed linens Rachel Berry uses. She wants to say so, but something holds her back, and she wonders if she’s just tired. Tired of the fight. Tired of everyone thinking she’s a bitch. Honestly, it’s exhausting.  
  
She tries to appear as passive as possible when she points at the paisley and says, “Uhm, that one?”  
  
Rachel contemplates the one Quinn’s selected, then places both items back in the bin where she found them. She nods and says, “I suppose something in a pattern is a more accurate representation of my personality.” Once she’s jotted down that particular sentiment on the back of the printed photo, she looks back up at Quinn and the small appliance in her arms. “Buying for yourself or someone else?”  
  
She assumes the coffee maker is for Quinn, though she’s not even sure why. She thinks it must be because she’s seen Quinn drink plenty of coffee in the past, but the honest truth is that she really has no idea about the frequency of the other girl’s caffeine consumption.  
  
“Uhm, it’s for me,” Quinn says, distractedly eyeing the sheets Rachel has just put back. Who asks for your opinion on bed sheets and then dumps them back in the bin once you’ve given it? “It makes a cup at a time, but it’s really good coffee, and I thought… maybe if you wanted to try the book club again at one of our houses…” She lets her voice trail off because god. What is wrong with her?  
  
Did Quinn just suggest the possibility of hosting a book club meeting in her home? A smile tugs at the corners of Rachel’s mouth, because it’s rare when someone shares similar interests with her to the point where they’d even consider inviting her over. “I think I would very much enjoy discussing Carrie over coffee.” She crosses over to the other side of the aisle and considers a striped pattern in red tones.  
  
Quinn chews her lip and thinks about her next move as she watches Rachel sift through linens. She hadn’t intended to invite Rachel over to her house for god’s sake, but the damage was done. And anyway, what’s the worst that could happen? She hasn’t deluded herself about how lonely she is in a long time, and clearly Rachel is open to trying out a tentative friendship. If only she weren’t so utterly eager. Before she can stop herself, she says, “Not the red.” When Rachel turns wide eyes to her, clearly surprised at her interjection, she shrugs. “There are studies that the color red keeps you alert. Bad for sleeping.”  
  
She doesn’t know exactly where to look now, and she couldn’t possibly clutch the box in her arms any tighter.  
  
There are certain things Rachel specifically likes about Quinn and her ability to come up with random trivia in relevant situations is definitely one of them. “Good to know,” she says as she abandons the stripes. “I’m trying to decide what I want for school, so… there’s no rush to make a decision. I just… wasn’t sure what to do with my time. I feel like I should stay busy so I don’t fall into the wrong sleep cycle and form bad habits.” She knows it probably sounds crazy, because it’s summer and most people revel in the ability to sleep in and do nothing.  
  
There are plenty of other sheets she hasn’t considered, but her entire plan suddenly seems kind of ridiculous. “Were you on your way to check out?”  
  
“So… you’re not actually buying anything? You’re just… trying on the colors? You do realize that you’ll be sleeping with your eyes closed most of the time, right?” Quinn tries not to laugh, but when she sees Rachel’s exasperated look, she can’t help it. Who else but Rachel Berry would make notes about sheet patterns before buying a set? “I am on my way to check out, yes.”  
  
“Quinn,” Rachel begins, suddenly feeling defensive, though it’s mild. “This is my chance to start fresh, to present myself in such a way where I control what people know about me. And that begins with my future roommate’s impression of me.” She stuffs the paper and pen into her purse. “I don’t want them to think I’m… weird.” It’s so simple that even Rachel’s surprised she doesn’t have more words to describe exactly why she’s taking so much care to select just the right sheets. “May I walk with you?”  
  
Quinn nods and suddenly she’s walking with Rachel through Sheets N Things as if it’s the most usual thing in the world. Like it’s completely normal for Quinn to be seeing first hand one of the things that makes Rachel tick. Quinn can only hold tighter to her coffee maker and walk calmly alongside her before saying quietly, “Rachel, you don’t need to do this anymore. You should get something that you like. Don’t worry about anyone else.”  
  
She feels like there is so much more that she should say, that she needs to say, but the words just won’t come.  
  
“It’s funny, we were just talking the other day about how all the other people at this school will be a lot like me and yet I’m still worried about acceptance.” Rachel’s voice is quieter now, as they walk together. “It’s not like freshman year, when I was so excited and had no idea that anyone would ever think badly of me.” She’s thinking about her first day of high school and how she can still remember the exact outfit she wore, because she’d picked it out, just for the occasion. She never had a chance to wear it again, because that was before her daddy had perfected the perfect slushy stain removal solution.  
  
Rachel can’t exactly tell Quinn that.  
  
“Rachel.” She knows now what she needs to say. She knows it and the words are there, and still it hurts. She doesn’t want to remember. She can’t remember. “You have no idea how sorry I am.” She feels like she should offer some sort of explanation, but there really isn’t one. So, instead, she says again, “I’m sorry,” and she hopes it’s enough.  
  
Of all the places Rachel’s imagined this conversation happening, it never took place in Sheets N Things. It really is difficult to picture this Quinn, the one she’s gotten to know (even if it hasn’t been in great detail), as the same Quinn Fabray who dominated the hallways of McKinley during the first leg of their high school careers. It’s not that Quinn’s any softer (in some ways she’s much harder) than she was back then. Rachel figures it must just be because she’s spent time with her. Even though their shared moments together have been few and far between, they’ve been… something.  
  
“I know you are. And I…” Rachel wants to say something eloquent, but what is there? “I think we’ve both been through enough that maybe we can just agree to let it go?”  
  
“Of course. I mean— I just wanted you to know. I’m not that person anymore.” Quinn wants to drop her coffee maker and dash for the door, but the look on Rachel’s face roots her to the spot. Sure, they’ve been at odds the entire time they’ve known each other, and Quinn has never thought that being friends with Rachel would solve any of her problems, but that doesn’t stop what she’s feeling now. That this girl beside her who came all the way to Sheets N Things alone merely to makes notes about the sheets she wants might be just as broken and lonely as she is.  
  
“I’ve known that since…” Since when? Rachel feels like she’s known ever since that day Quinn didn’t take the rightful opportunity to punch her square in the face after revealing the truth about Beth’s paternity to Finn. “… for a while.”  
  
For a long time, she assumed that this desperate need to be Quinn’s friend had to do with balancing things out. It had always been in the back of her mind, though, wanting to be friends with the prettiest girl in school. That was before they knew each other, before Quinn actually spoke to her without the express purpose of tearing her down.  
  
Now, she sees someone who works so hard to hide the fact that she’s still so sad about her life. Maybe sad isn’t the right word, but it’s the one that comes to mind the most when Rachel looks at her.  
  
Maybe it’s as awkward as it’s ever been, standing here like this with Rachel. She doesn’t know exactly what to say, but then she figures, maybe she’s not alone in that. They wait in line together and Quinn pays for her Keurig and then they’re standing outside the door. She used to be on top and now… well, look at her. She’s come a long way since graduation, that’s for sure. Now Quinn really doesn’t know what to say. So she shifts from foot to foot and chews her lip and waits for Rachel to say something.  
  
Rachel can feel it, the shrinking window of conversation, and tries to find something to talk about before the only non-awkward thing left to say is goodbye. It might already be too late.  
  
“What about yellow? Have you read anything about that?”  
  
This time, Quinn can’t fight the smile, but she really has no idea why. It’s such an innocuous question, but it seems to fit perfectly somehow, and after the last debacle, Quinn is determined to keep her interactions with Rachel judgement free. “Yellow is actually good, I think,” she says slowly. “Cool colors are the best for relaxation. Blues, purples. You could still find a paisley that has ‘personality’ in blue, maybe.”  
  
It’s not much, but it’s something. At the very least, she’s trying. Before she can stop herself, she adds, “What I said before, I didn’t mean— I really do hope you get a good roommate, Rachel.”  
  
Rachel reaches for her purse to find her paper, then stops. She’ll remember this, and not just because she’s incredibly skilled in memorization.  
  
“I appreciate it,” she says and offers a small but genuine smile, because she knows Quinn means what she said. “And if they don’t like me, well, they have plenty of time to realize how spectacular I am.”  
  
Quinn’s first instinct is to bristle. She realizes - Rachel is attempting a joke, and she stops herself from reacting, but not before she feels the smile dissolve on her face. That’s all this is, she reminds herself, it’s just a small attempt at humor to lighten the situation, but still the urge to take Rachel down a few levels is hovering just below the surface. She wonders if it will ever fully go away. Rachel doesn’t mean any harm, for god’s sake. She’s just trying to get by, like every body else in this godawful world.  
  
The moment is gone now, and Quinn is left with the knowledge that she is - and will always be - a horrible person. The pit in her stomach is as black as ever, but she forces a new, patented Fabray family smile up to the surface.  
  
She tries to quell the thoughts that are roiling and churning. What she says out loud is, “If they don’t, you’ll just have the show them.”  
  
Even though the response is fairly positive (or not negative, anyway), Rachel notices the shift in Quinn’s expression. “That applies to you, as well, Quinn.” She knows this is probably dangerous territory, but there’s always been something inside of her that wants to make Quinn realize that she’s… worth something. Not that necessarily it’s her place to do so, but she wonders if anyone one else even bothers.  
  
Quinn’s first thought is “who would I even show?” and then she answers it immediately with “my parents. Beth. Puck. Shelby.” She knows there’s baggage; it’s not exactly a secret.  
  
“Anyway, if you wanted to try out the coffee maker…”  
  
She can’t bring herself to actually say the words, but the thought is there anyway. She figures since they’re both lonely, who’s to say that they can’t be lonely in the same room? Maybe.  
  
“Now?” Rachel’s not sure if Quinn’s suggesting they actually go brew a few single cups together or if it’s just an extension of the book club invitation from earlier. Really, she’s excited about the possibility of either and it’s not like she had anything else to do. “I don’t have my book with me…”  
  
It also doesn’t escape her that Quinn’s entirely sidestepped the previous topic.  
  
Quinn did not actually mean that they go have coffee together right this moment, but now she’s not entirely sure how to backpedal without sounding like that girl all over again, not with the hopeful look that’s currently plastered on Rachel’s face. Besides, wasn’t she just complaining to Santana about how she’s been so completely bored this summer?  
  
So, she just shrugs and says, “Sure. If you want,” like it’s the easiest thing in the world for her. Maybe she’ll get lucky and Rachel will say no.  
  
Rachel wants to, though she isn’t sure just how much she should let that show. “I honestly hadn’t planned to do much today, other than more dorm pre-planning. So, I would be happy to accept your invitation. Perhaps it will give me a good frame of reference as to whether I want to purchase one of these for myself. Though, I’ll have to review the guidelines for the dorms. I’m not sure if small appliances are permitted.”  
  
Of course Rachel Berry doesn’t have plans.  
  
“Oh. Okay, well… good.” Quinn shifts the box in her arms and tries to find anything to look at that won’t make it seem like she just wants to run away, but her eyes somehow keep landing on Rachel’s face. This is what it felt like when she was a little girl and accidentally let go of the balloon her dad had gotten her at the zoo. The only thing to do was stand there and watch it float up into the sky. “Do you— is your car here, or…?”  
  
Rachel nods. Why wouldn’t her car be here? Sheets N Things is at least two miles from home. “I’m parked just over there.” She gestures toward the nearest row of cars. “Should I just meet you at your house? Or did you have anything you needed to do first? Have you had lunch? I was thinking about picking up a veggie panini. Would you like me to pick one up for you?”  
  
She realizes it’s a barrage of questions and she hopes it’s not too much all at once.  
  
This is just too much. She hasn’t eaten lunch, but the thought of turning this into a lunch date is just… no. The invitation to coffee is enough, and she— she just needs to get home and be alone for a few minutes.  
  
“Thank you, no.” She forces herself to sound pleasant. It’s not Rachel’s fault that she can barely handle an innocent social interaction. Maybe if they’re on her own turf, she can stop thinking about how awful she’s been to Rachel or that Rachel will be leaving Ohio in a few months to actually do something with her life. Imagine- having Beth ruined her chances to actually do something with her life and then she didn’t even get to keep her. “I’ll head to my house and you can meet me there when you’re ready. Do you need my address?”  
  
“Yes, please.” Rachel’s never been to Quinn’s house, before. She’s fairly sure she could find it, given that Lima isn’t the biggest city in any capacity, but it would probably weird Quinn out to tell her that she once mapped out the distances between the homes of all New Directions members, for no particular reason.  
  
Rachel unzips her purse and finds the paper with her notes, then refolds it so she’s left with a clean space to write the address.  
  
Once Quinn gives her the address and a few additional landmarks, she’s not sure how to make this any less awkward so she just says, “Uhm. Well, see you in a while, then,” and turns to head toward her car on the opposite side of the parking lot.


	3. Coffee for One. And One.

Quinn sits in her living room, staring out the front window. She can’t believe this. Rachel Berry, coming here, to her house. Of course, it’s ultimately not a big deal. It’s just that she’s a very private person, and for anyone to see where she lives… it seems like a big deal.

She’s been home for about a half an hour. Unpacked her coffee maker and set it up, changed her clothes, returned the call she missed (her mother) while she was talking to Rachel. Now, there is nothing left for her to do but wait and hope that Rachel doesn’t show up.  
  
Rachel’s done her best to take her time, but she’s hungry, so she eats her sandwich quickly and finds herself in front of Quinn’s house not even forty-five minutes since she left the parking lot of the Sheets N Things. She wonders if this is going to be a complete disaster like their last meeting, though she still supposes their encounter at the Lima Bean could have gone much worse.  
  
She’s incredibly curious about what she’ll find in Quinn’s house, if it will be full of Jesus statues and tiaras or look just like her own home, minus the various tributes to the career of Rachel Berry. Rachel makes her way up the front walk and rings the bell, wondering if Quinn will even answer.  
  
Quinn opens the door and can’t help but glance over Rachel’s shoulder like she’s looking for some kind of black car that tailed Rachel here. For god’s sake, high school is over, and all of those stupid social cliques and rules and bullshit is over now too.  
  
“Hey,” she says, and motions for Rachel to follow her. “I saved the first cup for you, so…” She has no idea why she says that or, truthfully, why she actually did save the first cup for Rachel, but whatever. “There’s sugar here and, uh, soy milk in the fridge. You’re vegan, right?” She hands Rachel a cup. “What?”  
  
Rachel realizes she’s probably paying too much attention to the details of the house. “I was just admiring your home. I wasn’t sure what to expect,” she admits, as she accepts the cup and studies the machine in front of her. “Yes, I am vegan. Thank you for remembering, not everyone does.” Carefully, she opens the K-Cup compartment. “I just load my selection in here and press the button, right?” She knows it’s probably ridiculously simple, but the last thing she wants to do is break Quinn’s brand new coffee maker.  
  
Watching Rachel look around her kitchen is surprisingly calming, if for no other reason than it’s Rachel who’s out of her comfort zone. Somehow, it makes all of this seem more bearable to Quinn. A small part of her feels apprehensive that she’s on display like this and, though this new home with her mother is decorated much more invitingly than the house her father inhabited, she still finds herself wondering if Rachel thinks so.  
  
She nods to acknowledge Rachel’s question and then watches as she pushes the button. Now that they’re here, together, Quinn isn’t sure how to move forward. It is her house, after all.  
  
“If you want, we can ice it and sit out by the pool or… stay in the air conditioning. I have Carrie, if you’re interested.”  
  
Rachel knows that talking about the book is probably the safest thing to do. But, maybe they can manage to hang out, like regular friends. Not that they’re friends, but she’s trying and it seems possible that Quinn’s not totally opposed to the idea, considering that they’re standing in the Fabray kitchen, waiting for coffee to brew.  
  
“I don’t really have a preference. Though, being outside might be nice and seasonally appropriate.” She also hopes the open air will help both of them relax, because if she’s a little nervous about being in Quinn’s house, she assumes Quinn must be on edge just having her there.  
  
“Okay, we can sit outside. I lay out almost every day if it’s nice.” As far as awkward moments go, this is one of the most notable of Quinn’s life. She needs something- anything- to talk about with Rachel, before she screams. “So… have you visited NYADA yet?”  
  
With a nod, Rachel pulls her finished cup of coffee away from the machine. “We went during the spring for an early orientation. Even having been there, I can’t begin to imagine what it will be like, attending school right in the city like that. There’s always so much going on and so much inspiration to be found. Plus, there’s the added thrill of everyone conducting their personal business on the streets, while they’re out and about. I even witnessed a break up during brunch, outside a diner window.”  
  
“You witnessed a break up? You sound so… happy about that.” Quinn’s own cup is nearly done brewing, and she drums her fingers on the counter as if she can speed things up just by willing them. “I think you’ll fit in there, for what it’s worth. You really seemed like you were in your element when we were there for Nationals.”  
  
“I certainly wasn’t pleased about the apparent demise of a relationship. I just meant that it’s fascinating to live in a place where things happen out in the open.” Rachel stirs a little sugar into her drink, then tops it off with the soy milk she finds in the fridge. “Did you enjoy the city when we were there?”  
  
Once upon a time, she would have classified Quinn as an uptown kind of girl, but when she thinks about it now, Rachel pictures her down in the Village.  
  
Quinn wants to say that no, she had a horrible time, what with Rachel and Kurt absent half the time and leaving them to stress about the songs, and Finn basically ignoring her all weekend, resulting in her little meltdown in front of Brittany and Santana… but then, Rachel doesn’t know about that. In fact, the only fun she did have was the giant pillow fight in the girls room, and even then it’s because everyone was too busy having fun and sifting through feathers to be looking at her, criticizing her, expecting everything from her. It was a nice break from herself, even if it had only lasted a moment.  
  
She doesn’t know what of these things to tell Rachel, but before she can make up her mind, the front door slams. Shit. Her mother.  
  
She shoots Rachel what she hopes is an apologetic smile, murmurs “I’ll be right back,” and goes to see why her mother is home in the middle of the day.  
  
Rachel watches Quinn leave and wonders if she should just stay in the kitchen or go on out and wait by the pool. She kind of hopes Mrs. Fabray doesn’t want to speak to her, because it already seems like Quinn’s tense enough just dealing with Rachel being in her house. Also, she has no idea what the relationship is like between them since Quinn moved back home, so she would prefer to avoid any awkward situations so early in their tentative friendship.  
  
She decides to stay where she is and occupies herself by pouring the coffee over ice.  
  
Quinn is barely in time to see her mother stagger up the steps, and she’s up them behind her twice as quickly, catching her by the elbow and hissing in her ear, “Are you drunk?”  
  
Quinn’s mother grins, totters and catches herself on the banister. “Quinnie. Don’t make such a big deal. I had a few drinks.”  
  
Quinn grits her teeth. “Do not call me that. And you’re supposed to be at work.”  
  
Judy Fabray ignores her daughter and instead says brightly, “I saw a car in the driveway, Quinnie. Do you have guests over?”  
  
Her hands are clenching before she can stop them because, really, how is this happening?  
  
Rachel can hear the voices, though she can’t really make out anything specific, other than Quinn’s name and something about guests. She feels like the polite thing to do would be to at least say hello, but she’s fairly certain she’s expected to mind her own business unless otherwise directed.  
  
Still, she’s always been so curious about Quinn’s life, about what makes her the way she is. Quinn Fabray has always been unlike everyone else, if only because she’s always kept Rachel guessing about what will come next.  
  
She edges toward the kitchen doorway, but she can’t really see anything.  
  
“Stop,” Quinn says, and she means it. “You don’t get to— you’re not—” She’s shaking, and she smooths her hands on her thighs because even after all this time, she’s still intimidated by her own family. “You’re drunk,” she finally bites out. “You’re drunk, and I don’t want you around my friends like this.”  
  
Judy takes a step back and actually manages to look shocked. “You’re ashamed of me?” And now, her mother is stumbling back down the stairs. “Well. We’ll see,” she says.  
  
God, the tears are coming. They’re coming and she has nowhere to put them. “Mom, stop. Please.” And when she doesn’t, “You can’t just— you can’t do this!”  
  
Rachel sees Judy, now, through the frame of the doorway, but from the way she’s moving and the sound of desperation in Quinn’s voice, she knows this isn’t going to be a simple meet and greet. For a split second, she wonders if she should hide, only that’s ridiculous because it’s childish. And also because there’s no way she’ll fit in the cupboard under the sink.  
  
In what would be considered a rare moment, she waits until she has some kind of confirmation from Quinn before she actually says anything.  
  
Quinn stands rigidly on the stairs watching her mother navigate the living room. In a flash of desperation, her eyes flick to Rachel’s and the look on Rachel’s face— it’s something between confusion and alarm. So. This is going to happen. She steels herself against the kickback, squares her shoulders, forces the tightness back down her throat. If this is how it it’s going to be, she’ll rise to the occasion, and no one will see her falter.  
  
It’s with that thought in mind, she glides across the living room and catches her mother by the small of the back.  
  
Rachel gets her most blinding smile. “Rachel, this is my mother. Judy Fabray. Mom, this is my— this is Rachel.”  
  
Rachel knows that smile, the one that’s borderline terrifying because it’s all teeth and deflection. “Pleased to finally meet you, Mrs. Fabray.” She offers her hand, because that’s the courteous thing to do, but she refrains from complimenting the house, because she’s too angry.  
  
She’s angry because she feels like she suddenly understands something about Quinn and she knows this is just scratch below the surface. Rachel’s not sure if she’s supposed to offer some kind of out, but there’s no harm in trying, is there?  
  
“Quinn, did you still want to go to that movie?”  
  
There is not a word for the look that Quinn feels on her face at this moment. Rachel Berry is actually trying to save her. Just as her mother accepts Rachel’s hand, Quinn has made up her mind and is sweeping past them.  
  
“Yeah, we’re actually going to be late.” She knows that her mother won’t even notice that she’s just brewed coffee and is leaving it on the counter- she hastily snatches down a travel mug for Rachel and dumps her iced coffee into it, sloshing it over the edges.  
  
Whatever Rachel’s reasoning for letting Quinn run, she doesn’t care; she’ll take it. And that’s exactly what she’s doing as she pulls Rachel out the front door, one of Rachel’s hands grasped tightly in hers and the other clinging to her coffee. She’s running; no matter if there just happens to be someone with her this time. As long as she can just get out of that house…  
  
Quinn doesn’t have to look through the living room window to know that her mother has collapsed on the sofa in the middle of the day.  
  
Rachel trails behind Quinn, fumbling in her purse for her car keys before she extracts them and presses the button on the remote. There are a lot of questions she could ask, as the doors shut them into the quiet space of the small SUV. Honestly, having seen her face to face, Judy Fabray doesn’t seem like a wretched woman. But she knows appearances aren’t everything.  
  
She starts the ignition and rubs her palms over the steering wheel, only just now processing how tight Quinn’s grip on her hand had been, all the way out of the house and down the front walk. “Where do you want to go?”  
  
That is a question Quinn’s not sure she can answer. After all, a moment ago, she was planning on sitting by the pool and making awkward conversation with Rachel until Rachel decided enough was enough before showing herself out. Now, they’re going out, if only to escape the bitter disappointment that is Quinn’s family, and now— now Rachel has seen what she comes from. The only other person from school who knows what she’s dealing with is Santana (and maybe Finn, if he even really remembers, which she doubts), and Santana isn’t doling out Medals of Honor any time soon.  
  
Her mind is reeling, but the only thing she can really focus on is how sure Rachel’s hand had clasped hers, like Rachel was equipped to deal with anything head on, no room for fear, and how Quinn just wants desperately to not cry in this moment.  
  
With some effort, she finally manages, “I don’t really know.”  
  
Rachel’s not really prepared to cross state lines or anything, despite the extra change of clothes that still tucked away in a small duffel bag, behind the rear seat, “in case of slushy emergency.” Instead, she shifts the car into drive and pulls away from the house, toward some place that will hopefully refrain from giving Quinn a seizure or panic attack.  
  
The radio’s technically on, but it’s tuned to the AUX function and her iPod is in the center console. She hits the button to switch it to the XM channels and they’re met with The Ballad of Sweeney Todd at a rather loud volume. Rachel quickly turns it down and laments the fact that she appears so predictable, when really, she’s been listening to a playlist made entirely of non-showtunes for days, now.  
  
Even with the music, the silence between them is too much for her, given that Quinn seems so shaken. “I appreciate you going to the effort to salvage my coffee. It would have been a shame to have the inaugural cup go to waste.”  
  
“The inaugural— You really are something else.” Quinn is sitting on her hands, trying very hard not to rock back and forth. Air in. Air out. Don’t cry. You’re bigger than this, and she doesn’t deserve your tears. “What, uhm, what song is that? It’s really, uh, heavy and angsty… I kind of like it.”  
  
“The Ballad of Sweeney Todd. This is the opening number, there are actually several reprises of it throughout the show.” Rachel’s a little surprised that Quinn doesn’t seem to be familiar with a story that centers so much around the theme of revenge. Then again, not everyone grew up with Sondheim Saturday nights.  
  
Once she turns on to the main street out of the Fabray’s neighborhood, she drives toward the center of town, in hope that one of them will think of a place to stop.  
  
Once they’re off her street, Quinn’s chest doesn’t feel quite as tight. She focuses on the music and on not letting her tears spill out, and suddenly, there’s a marvelously high note that she can’t help but imagine Rachel hitting.  
  
“I could see you in this,” she says. “In New York, maybe. I bet you would bring the house down singing that soprano part.”  
  
Rachel thrives on compliments, she takes them even when they’re buried under less complimentary words, like the way Santana prefers to offer them. Humility is something she’s worked hard on, especially during senior year, and it’s still a challenge for her to not come off as arrogant. But Rachel knows she’s talented and she’s aware that most people are not blessed with the ability she possesses.  
  
And yet, right now, Quinn’s words are making it difficult for her to do much more than say, “Kurt and I once didn’t speak for three days because we got into an argument over who would be a better Mrs. Lovett.” Her cheeks feel warm, which doesn’t make any sense, because the A/C is blowing right at her face.  
  
“Well, I’m not… sure who Mrs. Lovett is, but I assume that you might have a natural leg up on Kurt, all things considered.” She chews her lip for a moment and then says, “You know, you could just drop me off somewhere, and I could call a cab. Or… we could go see an actual movie. I mean, my mother is probably… I don’t want to be there. At least, not for a while.” For the life of her, she’s not sure what she’s asking or what she even expects Rachel to say. She just knows that it’s nice to feel like someone is on your side for once. If Rachel even is. It’s that idea that drives her voice down to a register that Rachel inclines her ear when she says, “Please don’t tell anyone.”  
  
“Quinn, I’m not just going to leave you to catch a cab. Anyway, they’re overpriced in a city like Lima, due to limited demand.” It’s maybe out of instinct or nostalgia that Rachel’s driven them toward the high school. Maybe it’s just coincidence. In any case, the parking lot is empty as she pulls into it, so they can at least take a minute to figure out where they’re going.  
  
“Who would I even tell? My social life is currently a book club with you and sometimes my father.” She realizes that’s not necessarily reassuring, so once she sets the vehicle in park she faces the passenger seat and adds, “I won’t, okay? It’s none of my business and I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut about other people’s. Especially yours.”  
  
Quinn’s eyebrows nearly meet her hairline as she takes in Rachel’s earnest expression. “Why especially mine?”  
  
Really? Quinn was questioning this? “More than once I’ve gotten involved in things that had nothing to do with me that ended up hurting you. Or people close to you.” She’s, of course, thinking of the day Beth’s paternity was revealed and time she was convinced Quinn was engaged in an illicit affair with Sam at that motel outside of town.  
  
Quinn pretends that she’s not disappointed at Rachel’s explanation. Admittedly, she’d thought that perhaps another person might take an interest in her simply because she’s her, but then that’s never really been something that’s hers, people’s affection. She tenses automatically, because is that something she’s honestly bemoaning? That she doesn’t have Rachel Berry’s affection? It’s laughable, really, but it doesn’t change the fact that Rachel is speaking of allegiance, and it’s not the same thing at all. Not when the only thing Quinn wants is to feel like she fits in somewhere. She suddenly feels more alone than usual.  
  
“Yeah,” she says, exhausted. “I remember. Seriously, Rachel, I don’t mind getting a cab later. You’ve done your civil duty for the day.”  
  
Whenever Rachel feels like she’s made any progress with Quinn, they always seem to move three steps backward. “I didn’t mean to upset you by reminding you of…” Of what? The times she made Quinn’s life even more difficult? Of course that’s upsetting. “I’d like to think that we made progress after… what, prom? Maybe?” She has no idea how to define what their interaction has been over the last year or so, because if they’ve been friends, it’s different than any friendship Rachel’s had with Kurt or Mercedes or Tina. Even her friendship with Puck is more defined that what she has with Quinn. If they have anything.  
  
Quinn’s so hard to read, but at the same time, it’s like Rachel could just dive into the sadness that envelops the girl sitting across from her.  
  
Quinn is staring hard at her hands now, inspecting her nail beds. This is just— it’s insane, is what it is. The fact that she’s even sitting here in the school parking lot with Rachel Berry after her mother basically just aired their family’s dirty laundry in front of her.  
  
“What do you want from me, Rachel?” It’s a heavy question, but it’s also very necessary. Everyone always wants something from her, and the sooner she figures out what each person wants, the sooner she can use it to her favor. She tries to tell herself that that’s all she means.  
  
Rachel can’t blame Quinn for constantly being on guard, especially after the very recent reminder that she has very good reason for it. That doesn’t stop her from wishing she could somehow get past the walls that surround Quinn Fabray. “I don’t want…” Except finishing that sentence would mean she’s lying. There is something she very much wants from her.  
  
She clears her throat and starts over. “Honestly? I just want to be your friend, Quinn. I’ve wanted that since freshman year. And I know we’re not enemies or rivals like we used to be. But I wish you’d realize that you…” It sounds so juvenile and amateur, begging someone to befriend her, like this. “… can trust me.”  
  
Quinn blows some air up at her bangs because— why is it that the heaviest moments of her life always have to happen in a car? And for some reason this seems like it’s right up there with Terri Schuester trying to steal her baby and Finn Hudson accusing her of being a fucking robot at Coach’s sister’s funeral and then walking away from her for… for Rachel. That just makes all of this one hundred times more complicated, that the one person claiming to offer her friendship without wanting to just take from her…  
  
It’s what she wants, sure. In a way, it’s the only thing she’s ever wanted, but she can’t help but feel a wave of resentment roll through her that it’s Rachel Berry who’s finally offering. She’s not sure if she’s even capable of letting that kind of trust in anymore.  
  
“I’ve been relying on no one but myself for a very long time,” she says quietly because, really, she has no idea what else she can say.  
  
Rachel’s entirely aware of this fact, because she’s spent plenty of time trying to feel for cracks in the thick shell that surrounds Quinn. For years, she’s watched this girl, this woman, stand tall and stay strong. “That has to be exhausting.”  
  
She gently places her hand on Quinn’s wrist, keeping her eyes on Quinn’s face, just to make sure it’s not too much. “Let me just take you to the movies and you won’t have to think about anything for a couple hours, okay?” She’s not asking for the world, she’s asking for two hours in a dark, air conditioned room. Maybe with popcorn.  
  
Everything is suddenly slower. People don’t touch Quinn; no one touches Quinn. Not ever. Not even her own mother. She feels like she might be sick. Her skin is clammy and her face feels flushed. This is far too much; her weakness has now been exposed— Rachel has seen her family, has seen that she has no one. She has admitted that she might not be as together as she always makes it seem, and it’s just too much.  
  
She wants to press her forehead against the glass. She wants to fling open the door and get away. But when she looks down and sees the delicate hand against her wrist, she understands that Rachel isn’t trying to push. It’s possible that a few hours away from everything might be exactly what she needs, and she suddenly just doesn’t care anymore.  
  
She pulls her hand slowly away, avoiding Rachel’s gaze, but she presses her lips together and nods slightly. It might only be a few hours, but at least she won’t be alone.  
  
Rachel shifts the car into drive and rolls through the parking lot. She’s not planning to ask any other questions, at least not the personal kind. The fact that Quinn isn’t running across the blacktop is some kind of progress, but she’s eager to keep the car moving to further prevent it from happening.  
  
“Should we look up what’s playing or just buy tickets for whatever starts next?” She isn’t even sure what’s out, right now. Not that it really matters, as this is hardly a pleasure outing for either of them.  
  
“I really don’t care, Rachel,” Quinn murmurs, watching as the world passes by outside Rachel’s window. Absently, she traces fingers gently over her slender wrist and thinks that soon she’ll be able to disappear into the dark.  
  
Rachel focuses on the drive and nudges the radio volume back up, just enough. “You’re welcome to change it, if you’d like,” she says, quietly. She’s not even sure if Quinn’s listening.  
  
As she slows to a stop at a red light, she thinks about her summer plans and how none of them specifically included Quinn Fabray, in any capacity. And yet, Quinn’s already worked her way into multiple items on her To Do List (the book club, the new songs). The car behind her honks, because the light’s changed while she’s been lost in thought.  
  
Quinn finds herself humming along softly before she says, “Hmm? No, it’s fine, Rachel.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been to the movies. I used to love going when I was a little girl.” And then, because it feels in some way like Rachel has helped her, even though she’s only asked her to the movies, “Thank you.”  
  
The idea is ludicrous, that Rachel Berry has somehow given her some kind of gift. She stops humming.  
  
Rachel offers a smile in return. “There was a point in time where my dads were discouraged by the theater staff from taking me to Disney movies, because I would sing along, quite loudly.” She waits for a car to pull away from the curb, then parks in the vacant space. “That actually hasn’t really changed.”  
  
Once the car is turned off and her keys are tucked in her purse, she picks up the travel cup and sips the iced coffee. “I feel bad. You haven’t even had a chance to try any of this, yet.”  
  
“I left mine on the counter,” is the only thing Quinn can think of to say. There is no precedent for this entire day. She doesn’t say it out loud, but she kind of hopes that there’s a Disney movie playing. Even if she does kind of resent Rachel for being so together when she is clearly a walking wreck, she still enjoys hearing her sing.  
  
“It’s good. You can… I mean, if you want some of this…” Rachel looks down at the cup and isn’t sure if it’s weird for them to share coffee. She wonders if having friends is this much of a constant guessing game for other people, because she knows she works too hard at things that are supposed to come easily. There’s just always the worry of getting something wrong that drives her to say too much or ask awkward questions.  
  
“Let’s just…” Quinn motions to the theater, and then she’s out of the car without waiting for Rachel to respond. She doesn’t even care what the movie is about. She’s going to sit in the dark next to someone who doesn’t - for reasons unfathomable to her - want to serve her up with a garnish. If the roles were reversed, if it were Rachel who was broken… Quinn isn’t even sure anymore what she would stop at.  
  
She waits for Rachel to get out of the car and then moves forward without looking back.  
  
Rachel hurries to catch up to Quinn, then passes her so she’s the first one to reach the box office. She’s the one who suggested the movie in the first place, then convinced Quinn it was a good idea, so there’s no way she’s not paying for the tickets. “Hi, two for… whatever starts next, please?”  
  
The box office attendant has to consult the times for a moment, before determining what film that actually is. Rachel hands over her debit card for the sale, then passes Quinn her ticket.  
  
“Thank you,” Quinn murmurs and holds the door open for Rachel. The cool air of the theater rushes out at her, and it’s the first thing that has actually made her feel like she can breathe again. “What are we seeing?” she asks, checking her ticket.  
  
“Oh…” Rachel’s already handing her ticket to the usher and still has no idea.  
  
The kid hands the stub back to her. “Theater two. To the left.”  
  
“Looks like Snow White,” Rachel says, reading the lettering off the torn paper in her hand. She enjoys fairy tales, though she’s seen the ads for this one and is pretty sure this isn’t a Disney version, so there likely won’t be any musical numbers.  
  
Well, whatever. Quinn is certain that she won’t like it at all, but she’s not really here to see the movie. She’s— what? Really, what the hell is she even doing? This is all wrong. Rachel’s so excited, she’s practically skipping, but she keeps throwing looks over at Quinn like she’s afraid that Quinn will just collapse on the floor at any moment and refuse to get up.  
  
“Awesome,” Quinn mumbles. She hates Kristen Stewart. Like, seriously. Loathes her. Everything about this afternoon is painful. And still, she would rather be here with Rachel than home with her mother. And now she’s clenching her jaw again because god. How self-centered and awful can one person be? The sooner she can sit down and forget who she is, the better.  
  
“Did you want to get popcorn?” Rachel waits for a reply, but only for a moment. “Actually, I want it, anyway. Though I’m not getting butter, because even if it’s not made with actual animal products, it still terrifies me.” There isn’t any line, because it’s the middle of the afternoon on a weekday, so she steps up to the counter and places her order, making an effort to glance over at Quinn when she requests a Diet Coke for herself. “Quinn?”  
  
Something about all of this is very familiar, but Quinn can’t quite place it, even if she has been touching her own wrist this entire time like she’s afraid to let go. She tries to smile at Rachel, but she knows her face just looks tired. It must. “I’m—” she starts to say and then stops. She’s what? Afraid if she eats that, she’ll blow up like some kind of diseased carcass? That Lucy will never ever leave and is just biding her time until she makes a horrific comeback in a big way? She shakes her head softly, feels her hair swinging around her face. It’s probably time for a trim. “No thank you. I’m fine.” And then, because she can’t quite help it, “You’re afraid of movie theater butter? Of all the phobias I’ve ever heard of, that’s probably the weirdest one ever.”  
  
“I’m not afraid of it, as in it might attack me,” Rachel explains, grabbing her soda and popcorn off the counter. “I just don’t know what’s in it and I don’t want to risk consuming something horrible.” She nods toward the napkin dispenser, “Would you mind?” she asks, before she continues. “The popcorn I trust because, it’s popcorn. Sure, the canola oil isn’t the healthiest choice, but…” The look on Quinn’s face suggests she should maybe just stop talking… so she does.  
  
“Rachel. I was kidding.” Quinn pulls several napkins out of the dispenser and takes the popcorn from her as an afterthought so that Rachel only has her drink to carry. It seems to Quinn like a natural thing to want to do, even if she won’t be eating it. “Though I don’t think you’re far off about the butter… if you can even call it that. Personally, I don’t think it even falls under the category of ‘food’ at all. It’s all chemicals.”  
  
She won’t tell Rachel that the real reason she won’t share Rachel’s popcorn with her isn’t that she’s afraid of movie theater butter but that she’s petrified that Lucy will come back any day now. So, she does the one thing she knows to do when she feels threatened— she flashes Rachel a smile with as many teeth as she can and then says, “Come on. We’ll miss the previews,” before walking her to the entrance, holding on casually to Rachel’s popcorn.  
  
“Do you prefer the front or the back?” Rachel asks. Given the nearly vacant state of theater two, they have their choice of anywhere.  
  
It’s actually been a while since Rachel’s been to the movies. The last time was on a date with Finn and he’d eaten one of those wrinkly hot dogs from the snack bar and she’d been grossed out by the smell of it on his breath when he leaned over to kiss her. That was months ago. And, looking back on it now, it was a moment where she can see how things were never meant to work out between them.  
  
“Back,” Quinn says automatically and pulls herself up the steps. “Is here okay?” She hesitates. This is feeling more and more awkward by the second, but all Quinn can do is hold tighter to Rachel’s popcorn and wait.  
  
Rachel nods and slips past Quinn, picking an ideal spot in the center of the row before sitting down. The laugh that escapes her is totally unexpected, but it’s the result of realizing she left the house to look at sheets and now she’s at the movies with Quinn. She considers pointing this out, but knows it will probably just result in her movie-going partner crossing her arms over herself and changing the subject.  
  
Quinn lifts her eyebrows at Rachel and sinks into the seat next to her. “What on earth is so funny?” she murmurs, balancing the bucket of popcorn on her knee. When Rachel reaches to take it from her, she bats Rachel’s hand away. “I’ve got it,” she says and leans back. It turns out, they haven’t missed the previews after all and with the near-empty theater and the dim lights, Quinn starts to feel a little more like she’s no longer on display. It’s not how she imagined this day going, not by a long shot, but she’s out of her mother’s stuffy, undecorated halfway house, and that’s not a bad thing. She figures she only has a few months until every single person she knows either leaves Lima or forgets about her completely.  
  
So, yes. This is nice, she decides. She’ll make the most of it.  
  
“Nothing, really.” Rachel’s hand hovers in the air somewhere between them, then she reaches for the popcorn, again, this time to grab a handful. “May I have the napkins, please?”  
  
Quinn looks a lot more relaxed and less like a cautious wild cat that’s waiting for someone to try and shoo her into a cage. Rachel’s not even sure where the feline analogy comes from, but it suits Quinn, given that she can go from tolerating you to flashing her claws without a moment’s notice.  
  
“Mhm.” Quinn passes the napkins as asked and then chews her lip because she feels like she should say something. When nothing materializes, she just kind of huffs some air out of her lungs and feels her bangs fluff on her forehead. She can hear Rachel chewing softly next to her, and she chances a glance in her direction.  
  
For the tiniest moment, she can see it. She can see friendship with this girl sitting next to her, this girl who is moving slowly and talking in a low voice like she’s afraid Quinn will spook like a deer. Why is she so persistent? Why does she even care? It’s a mystery to Quinn, and as much as she thinks she would like to get to the bottom of it, she knows that Rachel will be leaving in a few short months, and she honestly doesn’t know if she has the energy to put into developing that type of friend.  
  
Whatever else she’s on the fence about, she knows unequivocally that she can still feel where Rachel grasped gently at her wrist. Is she really that starved for companionship that the slightest touch lingers long after it’s passed? She rolls her eyes at herself because— god, what is wrong with her?  
  
“You do that, a lot,” Rachel comments, not looking directly at Quinn, because her eyes are on the screen, where a preview has just started to play. “Blow at your bangs.” She’s not sure why she even mentions it, but it’s something she’s noticed, both today and in the past.  
  
The trailer is for yet another sequel to yet another comic book movie that she’s probably be obliged to see if she were still dating Finn. Only she isn’t, so that’s at least two hours of her life she’ll be able to spend doing something else, like learning a new instrument. Or maybe writing a song. She’d like to get at least another original piece under her belt before heading to NYADA. Maybe Quinn would work with her on it. If they manage to get through this entire movie without one of them storming out on the other.  
  
That should be easy, right? Since talking isn’t really supposed to happen in a movie theater.  
  
Well, Quinn can’t honestly think of anything to say to that. She sort of stumbles over her “Oh. What? I do? Oh.” She watches Rachel lift another piece of popcorn so slowly where it finally disappears between full, pink lips. She’s really just at a complete loss. She grips more tightly to the popcorn bucket and rubs her other hand on the outside of her thigh.  
  
There’s not really a need to say anything else, since they paid to actually watch whatever’s on the screen. Rachel appreciates the lack of pressure to speak and becomes fully invested in the remainder of the Spider Man trailer. There’s a moment that isn’t even really scary, but it’s unexpected, which causes her to grab for Quinn’s arm, the same one holding the popcorn bucket. The motion knocks at least several dozen pieces directly into Quinn’s lap.  
  
“Oh my god, I’m sorry.” Rachel bites at her lip and tries to brush away the spilled pieces she can see in the light of the screen.  
  
Quinn’s first impulse is to stiffen when Rachel reaches across to brush the popcorn to the floor. She catches Rachel by the hand, which seems to freeze it right where it is, except now she’s got her other arm crossed in front of her holding on to the popcorn. “Rachel, it’s fine,” she says, and for some reason, before she releases Rachel’s hand, she traces down Rachel’s index finger and across the back of her hand smoothly with her thumb.  
  
It’s too late to take it back, and she just lets her own hand fall limply to her lap. Her cheeks are on fire from the inside out and she feels like she’s going to cry all over again. She has no idea what she was thinking. She just remembered that small moment in the car and wanted to reciprocate in some way, but— Jesus Christ. You can’t go running your thumbs all over people’s hands any time you want to for absolutely no reason. Somehow, she’s managed to fuck this afternoon up like she usually does.  
  
Fantastic.  
  
Rachel glances from Quinn’s face to her lap, then settle back into her own seat. “You’re sure?” Of course Quinn is sure, she just said it was fine. Except Rachel can feel something shift, like Quinn’s closing herself off, again. Maybe not entirely because she’s still right there, next to her. Is that progress?  
  
She flexes her hand, absently processing the light tingle that remains from Quinn’s touch. Probably because it was just light enough to tickle, not firm like the grip she felt on the way out of the Fabray house.  
  
For the sake of preventing any further incidents, Rachel makes sure to keep her Diet Coke in the cup holder on the opposite side.  
  
Quinn just presses her lips together and sits up straighter in her seat, as if she can be on her best behavior for the rest of the day and somehow change what she did. She honestly has no earthly idea what came over her. Thank god the movie is finally starting and she can pretend to be watching it instead of worrying about the embarrassment blazing beneath her skin.


	4. Accidental Date Two and a Half

There’s no telling what possessed Quinn to send Rachel a message asking if she wanted to come over and watch Carrie other than the fact that she’s had it from Netflix for a few days now and really would like to send it back and get her queue moving again. Rachel said she would bring vegan popcorn butter, so Quinn sets popcorn out, along with a bowl and some cups. She’s not really sure what she’s expecting from the evening, but hanging out with Rachel at the movies last week hadn’t been entirely awful, and it’s honestly just nice to have someone to do something with on a Saturday night. She’s just coming back into the living room to get the movie ready to go when she hears a car pull into the driveway. **  
  
**Rachel actually read the invitation message six times before even replying, because… This just doesn’t happen, not twice in the same week. Or ever. **  
  
**Even as she walks up to the front door, she wonders if she misunderstood. It’s one thing to be asked over for coffee as something of a courtesy (she’s not totally inept, she knows that’s what happened at Sheets N Things) or to just end up at the movies because Quinn doesn’t want to be at home, but this was a legitimate date. Of the platonic nature, of course. But it was still a planned evening together for the sake of enjoying each other’s company. **  
  
**She rings the bell and waits. **  
  
**Quinn pulls the door open, and Rachel looks- well, exactly like Rachel always looks. Except that she has the biggest smile on her face that Quinn has ever seen, and Rachel Berry smiles don’t exactly have a track record for being half-assed, so that’s saying something. ****  
  
“Hey. Come on in,” she says and steps aside to let Rachel in. ****  
  
“I’m sorry it took me so long. This was hidden away and it took a few minutes to find it.” Rachel hands Quinn the shaker full of powdered vegan butter substitute. She doesn’t mention that she also tried on three different skirts before setting on the plain black one she’s wearing now. She’s not even sure why, but she tells herself it’s because this one is both cute and comfortable. **  
  
**Quinn watches as Rachel smooths her skirt, and it’s only when she looks up a moment later that she realizes Rachel is looking at her with an odd expression. ****  
  
“Uh, it’s really no problem,” she says and leads Rachel into the kitchen. “I didn’t know when you would get here, so I waited on making this. Did you want some now or…?” She already has the pan in her hand and the burner on. ****  
  
“It looks like you’re already started. So please continue.” Rachel smiles again, it may be that she’s just still smiling, because it feels like she never stopped. Quinn appears to be in a good mood, so it’s easy enough to maintain the expression. **  
  
**She lets Quinn occupy herself with the popcorn and takes a moment to set her purse and keys on the counter. ****  
  
“Hey, Rachel, can you pour some drinks while I do this?” **  
  
**She keeps her back to Rachel, concentrating on what she’s doing at the stove, and soon there’s the sound of popping and the smell of stovetop popcorn wafting through the kitchen. It’s one of her favorite smells, and she’s happy that her mother showed her how to make it when she was younger before— before everything changed. She feels the familiar tightness in her chest, and she straightens a little more becauseher mother isn’t here. **  
  
**Rachel’s content watching Quinn work. There’s always been a grace to the way she moves, but right know she seems more in her element than she’s ever seen Quinn before. At least for a moment, anyway. “Of course,” she replies, then opens the refrigerator, taking loose inventory of the contents. “What would you like?” ****  
  
“Oh, I think there’s some vitamin water in there.” The popping has stopped now, for the most part, and Quinn shifts the pan to another burner and turns the heat off. She dumps the popcorn into the large bowl she has set out and brings it over to where Rachel is pouring drinks. “I’m going to trust you with that butter stuff,” she says. The panic is still there, but it’s much more manageable now for some reason, and she’s content now to just lean her hip against the counter and wait on Rachel. ****  
  
“I’ve even got Daddy using it now, and he’s usually the hardest to convert when it comes to anything vegan.” Rachel passes Quinn a full glass. “He and Dad both won’t entirely cut out the meat, but I at least have both of them buying organically.” She doesn’t even know why she feels compelled to say these things. ****  
  
“Yeah, I don’t blame them,” Quinn says, watching Rachel doctor the popcorn. And then when Rachel seems satisfied with her work, Quinn leads her into the living room and sits down on the sofa. “Ready?” ****  
  
“I suppose. Though you might want to secure the bowl given our previous experience.” Rachel sits next to Quinn, leaving an appropriate amount of space between them. ****  
  
“Secure the— yeah, I think I’ll risk it, Rach.” Quinn eats a few pieces of popcorn and pushes play on the remote. “Let me know if it gets too scary, okay? We can stop.” ****  
  
“I should be fine, given that I’m familiar with the source material.” Rachel scoops out some popcorn for herself, then asks, “What do you think? About the butter?” It doesn’t go unnoticed that Quinn just used a nickname for her. Sure, it’s nothing inventive, but she much prefers this to the more creative ones Quinn’s come up with in the past. **  
  
**Quinn gives herself another sample and honestly— “I really can’t tell the difference.” Rachel’s smile is actually welcome, for once, and she finds herself returning it easily. “Okay, last chance to back out…” ****  
  
“Just start it before I over analyze what I’m going to dream about later tonight.” Rachel intends it as a joke, but given her imagination, it’s likely she’ll be leaving a light on if she’s honestly spooked. “Do you watch a lot of scary films?” **  
  
**Quinn laughs and relaxes, tucking her legs up underneath her and laying her head back against the couch. Things are going much better this time than they did when they were out, and she wonders absently if it’s because no one knows that Rachel is here. There’s a flicker deep down, the old self hatred, stirring like a sleeping bear about to rise up from hibernating and maul her to death. Because, really, what kind of person thinks things like that? **  
  
**She pushes it down again and lets her head loll on the couch. “I’m addicted to scary movies. You can’t tell me that surprises you.” **  
  
**It doesn’t. “Not really, no. But I try not to assume. I feel like you probably also enjoy plenty of film genres that are based on literature, given how much you seem to read.” Rachel removes her flats after some brief contemplation over whether or not it’s appropriate. **  
  
**Quinn’s eyebrows climb slowly when Rachel takes off her shoes. She’s not even sure why; they just do and she makes herself busy with the popcorn bowl to mask her reaction. She’s not sure whether to be happy that Rachel is relaxing around her or worried that she now has Rachel Berry in her house with her shoes off. It’s that thought that makes her stare at her own hands and wonder just what is so horrible about Rachel anyway? Surely there’s a reason Quinn has hated her all these years. Try as she might, she can’t think of one thing. **  
  
**Okay, well maybe she can think of onething. Rachel’s clothing, which admittedly got a lot better senior year. Her obnoxious desire to win, which is extremely similar to Quinn’s, now that she’s thinking about it. It might be the only thing they really have in common. There are things about Rachel that Quinn doesn’t necessarily love, but they’re also not as worth hating her for as she once thought. **  
  
**Crap. She’s been lost in thought, staring at the hands in her lap for at least a minute. Rachel’s going to think she’s having some sort of mental problem. She looks up, flushed, and says, “Uh, no, actually. Movies usually ruin the books for me, so I don’t usually watch them. I started the first Chronicles of Narnia movie and stopped it halfway through because the kids aren’t how I see them in my head. I haven’t watched any of the others either.” Maybe that makes her weird. Now that she’s said it out loud, it’s exactly the kind of thing Rachel would say, isn’t it? It is. **  
  
**Well. Fuck. ****  
  
“I know what you mean. I usually feel that way when they adapt stage musicals into movies. It’s not that they’re even bad or poorly made, but I generally prefer the live versions.” Rachel reaches for more popcorn, but Quinn’s kind of monopolized the bowl, so she can’t avoid grazing her fingers against Quinn’s hand when she does. **  
  
**Quinn manages to remain relaxed but she freezes all the same. She’s not used to physical contact with anyone, and she knows it was an accident, but at the same time she wishes she could have a level of affection with any of her friends. Take Brittany and Santana. It’s not entirely the same, obviously, because they’re actually dating, but she’s known them forever and even when they were just friends, they were always affectionate with one another. Brittany sometimes gives Quinn the occasional hug, but even then, Quinn just sort of tenses up and keeps her arms at her sides as much as possible. Her parents never hugged her when she was growing up; Fabrays just aren’t normally touchy-feely people. **  
  
**Rachel, on the other hand, doesn’t even seem to notice. She just keeps on prattling about stage versions and revivals and, really, Quinn envies her for being able to just enjoy things without analyzing them to death. She does wish for that level of comfortableness that she can just— what? Not think about things so much. So she leaves her hand in the popcorn bucket and hopes that maybe by the end of the evening, Rachel will condition her not to react viscerally when another person’s skin comes in contact with her own. **  
  
**The reaction Rachel’s expecting isn’t the one she gets. At the very least, she thought Quinn would move her hand aside, but it stays where it is. Maybe it’s a possessive thing, since they’re in Quinn’s house and that’s kind of her personality, anyway. **  
  
**Fine. Quinn can own the bowl if that’s what she needs to do. “How many times have you seen this?” she asks, before reaching to take another small handful of popcorn. In order to really get more than a few pieces at a time, she has to slip her hand under Quinn’s. ****  
  
“I’m not sure. Several.” Quinn is still keeping one eye on the movie, but she’s more interested in the dynamic that’s happening inside the popcorn bowl. Every time Rachel gets more popcorn, her fingers brush against Quinn’s hand. Rachel doesn’t seem worried about it, or to even notice it really, and Quinn is discovering that it doesn’t bother her like she thought it would. It’s not that she has a problem with someone in her space, per se, it’s that she unsure of how she’s supposed to feelabout it. She’s always been that way, and for all her popularity on some level it makes her kind of socially awkward. Well, not like Carrieis socially awkward, and she nods back to the screen. “It’s so sad. What people drive her to.” **  
  
**Rachel nods. “It makes me so grateful for parents that aren’t… well, absolutely insane.” She settles back on the sofa and watches as the movie begins to play. It opens on a volleyball scene, but that quickly shifts to an opening credits sequence that features several naked girls in a locker room. She’s fully aware that this would likely be the starting point of the film, because it’s the first chapter of the book, but she wasn’t expecting to watch a young Sissy Spacek soap herself up in the shower. “I’m also grateful that I never had to take high school level physical education, because my ballet classes covered the credit requirements. I’m certainly comfortable with my body, but… I’m not sure how well I would have handled the added pressure of body image… not that I think everyone walks around naked…” Then again, she doesn’t know. “Do they?” **  
  
**Quinn knew this was the opening scene, and honestly she’d never really given much thought to the nudity in it before. She’s used to the locker room, and maybe the fact that there is nothing there that is remotely sexual kind of helped her forget. (Unless San and Britt are in there together after everyone is supposed to go home, but she’s not going to tell Rachel that.) ****  
  
“Probably not everywhere, but the Cheerios do, yes. It’s a small squad and no one ever really bothered with covering up much. Does it, uhm, does it bother you?” **  
  
**The thing about Rachel is that she’s very good at imagining things. It’s part of being a stage performer, having a strong ability to picture scenes that may not actually exist. Which is why, in this moment, she now has a very clear image of the Cheerios (but really, the focus is on Quinn, because she’s right there, laying out the scenario) walking around, freshly showered and very nude. **  
  
**She realizes she’s just kind of staring at Quinn and breathing though her mouth, so she shuts, only to open it back up to say, “Oh. No. It doesn’t bother me. It’s just… not my experience.” **  
  
**Maybe now is a really good time to be quiet and watch the movie. **  
  
**Rachel has an odd expression on her face that Quinn can’t quite place, so she chews her lip softly and says nothing. She tries to remember anything like what is currently happening to Carrie White going on at McKinley, and the closest she can come to it is how she herself treated Rachel outside of the locker room. But still. She finds that she can no longer watch what’s happening on screen and drops her eyes until the girls are done jeering at the poor girl. **  
  
**This might be a lot harder than she thought it would be. **  
  
**As much as Rachel really does want to watch the movie, scary or not, she can’t help but let her eyes drift over to the girl next to her. Whenever she’s around Quinn, she gets this urge to look at her, more than she tends to with her other friends. It has to be because Quinn is just so… pretty. Or because Rachel’s always trying to figure out where the calm and collected exterior ends and the rest of Quinn, as moody and confusing as she may be, begins. **  
  
**She notices that Quinn isn’t really paying attention to the scene. Maybe she’s bored. She had said she’s seen the film several times before. “Are you okay?” ****  
  
“Hmm?” Quinn is still looking at her lap. The idea that Rachel is asking herif she’s okay, when she really ought to be apologizing and trying to find a way to make things right… it would be laughable if she didn’t feel like utter shit about it. When she looks over at Rachel and sees the earnestness and actual concern there, she can feel the blush spread. Rachel has this way of leaning forward and just— engaging Quinn that other people either can’t or don’t care enough to do. “I’m fine, Rachel.” She tries to give a smile, but it feels kind of shallow, so she adds, “It’s just— the way they’re treating her… I know I never physically threatened you or threw things at you, but… god, Rachel, it’s basically the same thing. It’s hard for me to watch, sitting here next to you. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to act.” **  
  
**She swallows then because she feels like she might cry, and she does notwant to do that. **  
  
**Once of the reasons why Rachel’s never felt obligated to hold a grudge (other than the fact that she tries not to hold grudges, because they’re a waste of energy and valuable emotion she could be channeling into performance) against Quinn is because she knows that, even though she’s forgiven her and moved on, it seems like Quinn’s never forgiven herself. **  
  
**Her hand dips into the bowl, but instead of grabbing more popcorn, she wraps her fingers around Quinn’s hand, to give her a reassuring squeeze. “I told you the other day, we don’t need to keep revisiting this. Though, maybe this wasn’t an ideal choice for our second… mutual outing.” She closes her eyes for a moment, because she loves herself, she really does, but sometimes she hates the fact that she uses so many words at a time. “I mean, we can watch something else, if you’d like.” **  
  
**Air floods Quinn’s lungs when she feels Rachel’s hand covering her own, nostrils flare, she focuses on breathing. Because this… she doesn’t deserve this. Rachel’s friendship is something that she should never be offered— she doesn’t have the right. There’s a tear spilling over now, and an image of Rachel in the bathroom at junior prom invades her memory. She felt just like this then. The parallels are— she fumbles and finally grasps blindly at Rachel’s hand just so this doesn’t turn into that all over again and wipes at her eyes with her other hand. ****  
  
“I’ve seen this movie so many times, and I just never— I never—” She turns watery eyes back on Rachel and the sympathy she reads there makes her flare all over again. No wonder she slapped Rachel that night in the bathroom. It’s too much to feel all at once. **  
  
**Her smile this time is genuine. “I’m sorry. I really am. I have no idea why I’m crying. Guilt, maybe. We can keep watching. I’m okay.” It’s choppy, her voice, and she’s fighting air like it’s going to kill her if she breathes too deeply, but she closes her eyes to compose herself and feels her heart rate slow. She doesn’t let go of Rachel’s hand. **  
  
**There’s another squeeze and Rachel feels the grit of the salt and powdered butter substitute on her hand, but she doesn’t want to release her grip, not yet. Part of that’s because she doesn’t want this moment to stop, whatever it is. If she can help Quinn let go of even a little of the guilt she’s been carrying around for the last couple years, she knows it will be worth it. **  
  
**The other part is due to the fact that they’re watching a horror movie and she knows it’s inevitable that she’ll be startled, so the physical comfort of being close to someone else really helps. Especially someone like Quinn who doesn’t seem to get scared, not of things like this. **  
  
**Rachel goes for a subject change, the way she’s done other times, lately, when Quinn’s obviously been uncomfortable. “Did you know there’s a Broadway musical version of this?” She knows because she stumbled across it on Wikipedia this last week. “Apparently, we just missed a revival.” **  
  
**Quinn makes an unattractive noise in the back of her throat. “They made this into a musical? God.” Try as she might, she just can’t imagine Carrie bursting into song while she flings knives through the air at her own mother. The idea is equal parts ridiculous and horrific, and she bursts into laughter without meaning to. “That’s insane,” is her official stance on the idea of Carrie: the Musical. **  
  
**She can’t help but risk a glance at her hand, clasped tightly with Rachel’s. It’s not exactly intimate; it doesn’t feel romantic in the slightest, but for the first time in a long time she feels like someone might actually be here for her, and she likes it. Even if it is kind of clumsy and awkward, it feels like friendship, and she’s grateful for it. ****  
  
“Yes,” Rachel nods, “it ran in the late 80’s. But there isn’t an official recording, only bootlegs.” She’s quiet for a moment, not sure if she should reveal the next piece of information, but then figures Quinn is the only person she would tell, anyway. “I ordered one.” **  
  
**It might be a little too soon, but she can’t help that maybe she’s picturing them sitting in her room or Quinn’s room, listening to Carrie: The Musical. She imagines Quinn will spend most of her time laughing, the way she just did, now. Given that Rachel has no concept of what the musical integrity of the show might be, she can’t yet write that off as an inappropriate response. ****  
  
“You can’t be serious. You ordered it?” Quinn laughs again, more gently this time, but it’s still funny. “I have got to hear that. I’ll bet it’s a train wreck.” She wants more popcorn, but she wants to hang on to that feeling of not being so alone more. Her fingers end up twitching slightly as she thinks about it, and she can feel Rachel squeeze again gently. **  
  
**The locker room scene - what started Quinn’s panic in the first place - is finally over, and she lets herself relax again. She knows that there isn’t anything else coming until the movie’s almost over and Carrie is at prom. Besides, she kind of likes the set up they have here- softly talking with Rachel and still watching the movie off and on. She hopes Rachel is comfortable with it too, and judging by how relaxed Rachel’s hand is around hers, it’s a good bet that she is. **  
  
**Rachel’s unsure as to why that’s a surprise. “Of course I did. If I plan to have a lifelong career in the industry, it’s important that I’m also at least informed in regard to the less successful productions.” The fact that Quinn really does want to hear it makes Rachel feel… happy isn’t quite the right word, but only because she doesn’t find it descriptive enough. **  
  
**She finally pulls her gaze off of Quinn and back to the television, to see that the more intense sequence has passed. “Will you please at least give me a warning if anything scary is about to happen?” There’s not even a thought given to releasing the hand she’s clasping in the popcorn bowl, and she reaches over with her other hand to grab a few kernels. **  
  
**Quinn’s tears are all but dried now. How is that Rachel knows exactly how to distract her every time she starts to panic? “I will, Rach. You’re safe for a while. The rest of this is just setting up how Carrie comes to snap at prom.” **  
  
**She doesn’t even think about it, but suddenly she’s aware that her thumb is moving slowly back and forth across the back of Rachel’s hand. It surprises her, and she’s not entirely sure what to do. If she stops abruptly, Rachel might think she has a problem with this development, and she doesn’t. If she continues stroking Rachel’s hand, it might seem more intimate than it actually is. She ends up slowing down considerably but continuing the small gesture of affection and hopes that Rachel takes it the right way. **  
  
**Rachel not only notes that the pace of the thumb has slowed, but she’s been aware of the motion since Quinn started it. Her eyes are directed toward the movie, but her attention is on the fact that her pulse is more rapid than usual. ****  
  
“I appreciate it. My dads didn’t let me watch anything too scary as a child, because I would have nightmares just about the Halloween episodes of the shows we’d watch together.” ****  
  
“Oh, well, it’s really just like a drama until they get to prom, so… if you need to stop once the blood starts flying, we can.” Quinn thinks about moving the popcorn away - solely to make things less cluttered and more comfortable - but she’s not sure how to go about it. “I’m going to— move this, if that’s okay,” she finally says and sets the popcorn bowl on the coffee table where Rachel can still reach it. She wipes the salt off of her fingers with a napkin and hands one to Rachel before settling back into the couch. **  
  
**It’s unsettling how cold Rachel realizes her hand is without Quinn’s in it. She accepts the napkin and rubs at her fingers. The warm feeling she had before Quinn moved the bowl is replaced with something that feels like disappointment. That’s ridiculous, though, because they’re not actually on a date, they’re just two friends watching a movie. ****  
  
“I think I’ll be okay with the blood.” She risks a glance up at Quinn. “Remind me to loan you Sweeney Todd, sometime. While I prefer the stage version, I think you’ll like the Johnny Depp adaptation.” **  
  
**Quinn settles back in and drops her hand to the cushion between them. She doesn’t know if Rachel’s hand is still there or not, but she’d be lying if she said it would bother her if it were. When her hand comes in contact with Rachel’s, she’s pleased because she feels like they’re finally working toward a friendship and it feels nice. She glances sideways and catches Rachel’s eye, but she can’t explain the blush she feels. **  
  
**Just to be safe, she mumbles, “Sorry,” but leaves her hand resting lightly against Rachel’s, not holdingit exactly, but definitely close to what they were doing before. It feels a lot nicer without the butter and salt. **  
  
**Rachel lets her hand fit into Quinn’s and the feeling of disappointment melts away. “It’s okay,” she says, so quietly that she can barely hear herself. She’s been sitting in the same position for a while, so she shifts her legs to one side, which naturally pushes her toward Quinn, just a little. **  
  
**She’s trying so hard not to read too much into anything, not just today, but as a general rule. Yet, she can’t ignore the fact that she feels something electric between the two of them, as if there’s been an undercurrent over time that’s just now starting to spark. **  
  
**It doesn’t take Quinn long to resume tracing tiny patterns on the back of Rachel’s hand with her thumb. She did say it was okay, after all. Barely, but Quinn is counting it. **  
  
**It’s easier, now, for Rachel to relax and watch the movie, especially given that it’s something Quinn seems to enjoy watching, so much. At least now that they’re past that opening scene. **  
  
**She’s not even sure how long it’s been (though after checking the clock on the wall, it’s only about fifteen minutes) when she realizes she’s kind of leaning into Quinn’s shoulder. It’s not anything more than their arms touching, but once she’s aware, it’s all she can think about. **  
  
**Well, this is new. For Quinn, anyway, this is very new. She’s used to Cheerios functions (or, well, she wasbefore she got pregnant), where San and Britt were always cuddled together and everyone else on the squad was to afraid of her to come near her in a social setting. She’d had a friend, once, in elementary school— before she was Quinn— who used to link their arms on the school bus. Katie. Quinn still thinks of Katie from time to time and hopes she’s happy, wherever she is. **  
  
**With Rachel sitting next to her now, their arms are touching, almost shoulder to wrist, and Quinn likes the comfort she finds there. She fumbles again with her hand and tangles her fingers together with Rachel’s more fully. **  
  
**When Rachel would watch movies with Finn, it wasn’t like this when they held hands. The size of Finn’s hands alone made it an entirely different experience in comparison to Quinn’s, which are still bigger than her own, but also delicate and softer than her (their) ex-boyfriend’s. **  
  
**Why is she even comparing one to the other, though? Rachel sighs a little and does her best to pay attention to Carrie (it feels like it’s been somewhat difficult, which is odd because she really does care to know what happens on the screen). **  
  
**This is the most relaxed Quinn has felt in— in how long? Weeks? Months? The movie is keeping her occupied, and the feeling of Rachel’s hand in hers is keeping her steady. Rachel is breathing softly next to her, and Quinn allows herself to just take in everything at once, and when she finally murmurs, “This is nice,” it’s without even a flicker of apprehension. **  
  
**She sinks further into the couch and lets herself rest more heavily against Rachel. **  
  
**Rachel has this sensation of being light and grounded at the same time. Her pulse has slowed from earlier and the weight of Quinn against her carries with it a sense of security. **  
  
**The moment is so balanced, she’s not sure if she should respond, because she doesn’t want to draw attention to anything specific about it, just in case it’s accidental. But how can it be, at this point? The fact is, they’re sitting on Quinn’s couch, watching a movie, and just… being close. There’s nothing unintentional about it. **  
  
**Rachel smiles and pushes out a steady, relaxed breath. “Yeah.” **  
  
**They sit like that until Tommy picks Carrie up for the prom, and then Quinn nudges Rachel lightly with her shoulder. “Tell me if it’s too much and we’ll stop, okay?” She’s still got Rachel by one hand and the remote in the other, just in case. **  
  
**Rachel nods and she’s honestly okay, at first, because it’s just a prom scene. She considers telling Quinn that the book is the reason she never even tried to run for prom queen, but considering Quinn’s reaction to the beginning of the movie, Rachel figures it’s not the best idea. **  
  
**As they approach the part where Carrie wins the vote, she’s aware of what’s coming, so Rachel angles her body toward Quinn’s a little, so she can hide her face if she needs to. **  
  
**This is the part Quinn loves the most. The payoff. She watches as Carrie wins. Tommy kisses her. The rope. The bucket. The tension is fantastic. **  
  
**Rachel is clutching her hand tightly, her breath coming in short bursts. She’s nervous, and it makes the experience all the more nerve-wracking. She draws her thumb in tighter circles, hoping to sooth Rachel as much as possible. “You okay?” she’s asks, once Carrie has trapped them in the gym. ****  
  
“I’m fine, Quinn, I—” Rachel finches and pushes her face into Quinn’s shoulder. “It’s not that scary,” she says, though it may be difficult to decipher, because it comes out muffled against Quinn’s shirt. **  
  
**She’s not going to give up, even if she has to look away, like this. Stopping the movie means they’ll lose the momentum of the story and she’d rather just power through. There’s also the fact that the movie is an excuse to sit this way and she’s not ready to give it up until it’s absolutely necessary. **  
  
**Quinn would be lying if she said that Rachel’s reaction surprised her. It’s not frightening exactly, what’s happening on Quinn’s tv, but it’s not pleasant either, and Quinn can’t help but compare Rachel’s reaction with San’s usual scoff of ‘please, like this is scary,’ and Britt’s wide-eyed fascination. **  
  
**Rachel, Quinn thinks, is the type of person scary movies were made for. Carrie sends sparks showering down over her classmates and Quinn feels what it’s like to have another girl’s face buried into her shoulder. **  
  
**Despite the fact that she keeps looking away, Rachel does want to see the end of the movie, so she forces herself to keep watching, her head tilted toward the television but still resting against Quinn. This isn’t at all like watching movies with Finn, because he always just ended up enveloping her with his arm and while she definitely felt secure, she also felt small. **  
  
**The way Quinn’s holding her makes her feel like they’re in this together. **  
  
**Quinn knows there’s only maybe twenty minutes left, and she’s already thinking of more scary movies to put in her Netflix queue. She’s not even sure why, but she doesn’t question it. She just knows that it’s the best time she’s ever had, just watching a movie with someone, and her mother isn’t here, and Rachel nevertreats her like— god. The thought hits her all at once, like an enormous wall of water, and she suddenly feels like she might drown. In eighteen years of life, Rachel Berry is the one person who has never treated her like anyone else. **  
  
**For just a moment, she forgets the movie and looks down. With the way they’re sitting, she mostly can just see the top of Rachel’s head, but she lets herself look anyway. Rachel has never once treated her like she is acceptable based on performance or appearance or, god, even behavior. She smoked cigarettes. She blew up a piano. She tried to steal her own baby, from Rachel’s birth mother, no less. And Rachel has always been kind and gentle and— and what, Quinn? **  
  
**She chews her lip and tries to focus, but there’s something nagging at her, down deep enough that she can’t really put her finger on what it is. **  
  
**When Carrie drops the beams that chops Miss Collins in half, Rachel gasps and burrows further into Quinn, and Quinn can’t get her arm around Rachel fast enough. “It’s okay, Rach,” she says and pulls Rachel close. “It’s okay,” she says again, and she thinks that she might be saying it to both of them and not just to Rachel. **  
  
**As Quinn’s arm tightens around her, Rachel grabs a handful of the other girl’s shirt. This scene has to end, eventually, but as long as it’s still happening, she’s not letting go. “If this isn’t scary to you, I don’t even want to know what really disturbs you.” But if this is what it’s like watching movies of this nature with Quinn, she might be able to handle it. **  
  
**She can smell a hint of whatever fabric softener the Fabrays use, along with what’s probably Quinn’s shampoo. It’s comforting, whatever it is. ****  
  
“It’s not that scary to me, but lets just handle one scary movie at a time, okay?” Quinn murmurs. Rachel’s hand at her side, twisted in her shirt, is more distracting than it should be, but Quinn doesn’t want her to move. Her fingers find Rachel’s skin again, this time on the other side, and Quinn does her best to make what she hopes are soothing touches against Rachel’s arm. **  
  
**There’s a break in the carnage on the tv as Carrie walks home, and Quinn leans her cheek against the top of Rachel’s head. “Don’t get too complacent,” she says softly. “It’s not over yet.” ****  
  
“I have read the book, you know,” Rachel says, though she makes no effort to release her hold on the fabric between her fingers. She tips her head upward, though it isn’t far enough to actually see Quinn’s face. “But thank you.” ****  
  
“Sorry. I know,” Quinn says. ”I didn’t mean to imply anything. Of course you’ve read it. I just want you to be able to sleep tonight.” **  
  
**Carrie is home now. Candles on literally every surface. Bathtub full of bloody water from cleaning herself off. Quinn knows what’s coming. Margaret White, in all her insane glory, stabbing her own daughter in the back. If there were something in this movie that might keep Quinn up at night, it would be this scene right here, and she squeezes Rachel’s shoulders and holds her that much tighter. **  
  
**Rachel responds with a mumbled, “Too late,” as she flexes her hand and smoothes out the wrinkles she’s left in Quinn’s shirt. She’s already wondering what will happen when the movie ends and they don’t have any real reason to be cozied up to each other. ****  
  
“You’re really not going to be able to sleep tonight?” Well, now Quinn just feels awful. She knows she didn’t twist Rachel’s arm, that Rachel made the choice on her own to watch Carrie with Quinn, but she still feels sorry when she hears that. “We can always watch a comedy or play a game or something when this is over, just to take your mind off of the scary.” She winces when Carrie’s first knife flies through the air and plunges deep into her mother’s heart. Perfect timing, Quinn thinks. **  
  
**Rachel figures she’ll probably be just fine, if she falls asleep to Funny Girl or something, but if Quinn’s going to offer distraction, she isn’t going to turn it down. ****  
  
“I’d like that.” When Quinn reacts to the movie, Rachel slides her own arm around Quinn’s waist and offers similar consolation to what she’s been getting during most of the film. **  
  
**They’ve all but made it now. The house collapses slowly, sinks into the earth with a defeated Carrie White huddled inside, and there’s only Sue’s nightmare left. This is the part not in the book, and Quinn feels Rachel’s arm around her and wonders how Rachel will react to Carrie’s hand shooting up from the grave and grabbing Sue. She runs her fingers up and down Rachel’s arm and waits. ****  
  
“What?!” is Rachel reaction to the moment in question, though it’s squealed more than spoken and her face ends up pressed between Quinn’s neck and shoulder. The scent of shampoo is much stronger from here. **  
  
**It’s complete reaction rather than choice when Quinn’s other arm comes up and encloses Rachel’s body. She loops her hands together so that she’s basically hugging the startled girl and then laughs softly against her. ****  
  
“Are you okay, Rach? Did you like it?” ****  
  
“I had a great time, can’t you tell?” Rachel laughs lightly against Quinn’s skin. She sighs, because this is more comfortable than she’s been in… She doesn’t even know how long. ****  
  
“Hmmm,” Quinn hums in response. The credits are rolling now, and Quinn doesn’t move. Well, her hand lifts and shaky fingers smooth down a strand of the silkiest brown hair. But other than that, she doesn’t move. **  
  
**Every time Rachel exhales, she can feel the warmth of her breath radiating across Quinn’s neck. “Did you want to watch something else?” She’s torn about what she wants the answer to be, because more movie time means they can stay on the couch but it also probably means Quinn has to get up. ****  
  
“Sure. It’s still early. Any requests?” Quinn asks, running her fingers over Rachel’s hair once more. She hadn’t been met with a protest earlier, so she hopes it’s okay now. **  
  
**Rachel’s having a difficult time keeping her eyes open with the way Quinn’s playing with her hair. “You don’t happen to have Spice World, do you?” It’s ridiculous, both as a movie and as a request, but it’s worth a chance because it never fails to make her laugh and it will easily wipe away the more frightening images she’s just seen. ****  
  
Quinn just laughs because of all the movies Rachel could have chosen… of course she has Spice World. She untangles herself from Rachel and puts it into the dvd player. She surprises herself when she sinks back into the couch and extends her arm, but when Rachel folds back into her side and snuggles in, humming with contentment, she knows that she made the right decision.


	5. I Just Called to Say I... Had a Really Good Time

Rachel can’t stop thinking about the last weekend, specifically Saturday and the double feature she watched with Quinn. While they sat on the couch. Cuddling. That was what it was, right? Sitting together, holding hands, leaning on each other with Quinn stroking her hair or the back of her hand — those activities definitely fall in the cuddling category. **  
  
**It was… nice. No, not just nice. It was comforting. It was sweet. It was not like any afternoon she’s spent with Kurt or Tina. It was more like watching a movie with Finn. Only without him making a play for second base or trying to kiss her when she’s trying to focus on some important point of exposition. **  
  
**She wants to talk to Quinn, not just about Saturday, but because she likes talking to Quinn, because they’re actually getting along and Rachel just wants to get to know whatever she can about her. **  
  
**Rachel’s in her room, bare feet tucked up under her on her bed. She opens the contact list in her phone and taps Quinn’s name. As she waits for an answer, she absently fiddles with the little plush monkey, Curly, that usually sits on the headboard. **  
  
**Quinn is in the kitchen making tea when her iPhone chimes. She doesn’t recognize the number so when she answers it, she says “This is Quinn” instead of her usual “Hey.” **  
  
**Rachel laughs a little at the formality of Quinn’s response. ”Hi. It’s Rachel. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” ****  
  
“Rachel? Uh, hi. Is everything okay?” ****  
  
“Yes. Well, they were out of vegan bacon at the supermarket, but other than that, things are just fine.” ****  
  
“Vegan bacon? That sounds… gross.” Quinn tucks her phone between her ear and her shoulder and takes her tea upstairs to her room. She drops herself down on her bed before chewing her lip and asking, “Um, how did you get my number?” ****  
  
“Really? Quinn, we were not only teammates, but I was also glee club captain.” Rachel pauses and then further explains, “Contact list. And vegan bacon can be disgusting if it’s prepared incorrectly.” **  
  
**Of course Rachel had the entire glee club’s phone numbers. ****  
  
“It’s a safe bet that it’s always disgusting,” Quinn mumbles, taking a sip of tea. Louder, she said, “What can I do for you, Rachel?” **  
  
**Rachel tosses the stuffed monkey aside. “I just wanted to… talk to you. I had a really good time on Saturday. And I wanted to thank you for not just sending me home after Carrie ended, because it did kind of creep me out.” ****  
  
“Oh. Okay.” Quinn twists a strand of hair around her finger. “Of course you can stay. I know you’re not used to scary movies.” She takes another sip of tea. It’s hardly her fault she doesn’t know what to say. Talking to Rachel on the phone is new territory. She has to say something, so she says, “I’m glad you had fun.” ****  
  
“I’d be willing to watch more. If… you wanted to. Nothing too horrifying, but anything on the same level… or anything older. I usually like the old Hitchcock movies, though they’re more like mystery, I suppose.” Rachel realizes she’s trailed off. “Except Psycho. Which we’ve kind of already discussed.” ****  
  
“You want to watch another movie with me?” Quinn doesn’t even bother trying to hide her surprise. “I’m— oh.” ****  
  
“I didn’t mean tonight or anything,” though Rachel won’t object if Quinn suggests it. “But I would be open to it. That’s what summer is for, right? Hanging out… with friends?” **  
  
**Quinn can’t bring herself to say anything for a full thirty seconds. “Is that— are we? Friends?” ****  
  
“Wouldn’t you classify our behavior together as… friendly?” Rachel asks. “Not to mention we… kind of were friends in school.” ****  
  
“I really don’t know. It was a rough year for me, and I really only have my friendship with Santana and Britt and the other Cheerios to compare it to. We…” Quinn pauses again because does she really want to have this discussion right now? She remembers how Rachel cuddled into her during Carrie, and how they never really broke apart during Spice World. That’s certainly friendly behavior. On the other hand, if she opens herself up to someone again… well, that’s how a person gets hurt, damn it. And she’s worked so hard at never letting herself be put into that position again. Yet again, the way she’d felt when she held Rachel— she felt like she was protecting her for a change, and it had felt good. She decides, takes a deep breath, swirls her tea in her mug. “We could be friends, Rachel.” **  
  
**Rachel doesn’t realize she’s been holding her breath until she releases it, right then. “Really?” She hates that she sounds so eager, as if Quinn might hear how much she wants it and just take it right back. “I just mean, I’m glad that you think so. Because I feel like we have some kind of connection where we can really talk about things other people don’t seem care about. Like Carrie, for instance. Well, not just Carrie, but other books, too. Or movies.” Or sheets, because she still has the paper with Quinn’s comments from their encounter at Sheets N Things. **  
  
**This is quickly becoming too much. Rachel has a way of just being… enthusiastic about everything, but Quinn is feeling a tightness in her chest that she can’t explain. It’s exactly like the feeling she gets when she sees her mother pull into the driveway after one of her “cruises,” and if she doesn’t take control of this conversation, she knows that there’s a strong possibility of regression. ****  
  
“What did you do today, Rachel?” Her voice remains calm and calculated, even though she’s mostly just trying to breathe evenly at this point. God, what has happened to her? She used to be so strong— immovable, a freaking rock, and now even the slightest hint of somebody wanting too much from her just sends her into a blind panic. Rachel talking about her day is about a hundred times better than Rachel talking about their connection, for god’s sake. She pinches the bridge of her nose and shuts her eyes. ****  
  
“Oh, um… I got up around eight and did twenty minutes on the elliptical, had a breakfast smoothie with Dad before he left for work, re-tagged some things in my iTunes and changed some of the album art… and… that’s incredibly boring, isn’t it?” Rachel tries to think of anything Quinn might find interesting, but she’s coming up short. “I took a shower and tried a new detangling spray. I don’t know if I like it, yet.” **  
  
**Quinn hums in the back of her throat. Hair care. Now that is something she knows a thing or two about. “What were you using before? On your hair, I mean.” ****  
  
“Well, I get my shampoo and conditioner from Trader Joe’s, because it’s cruelty free, but they don’t really have a line of other hair products, so I’ve been alternating through a few different things and trying not to think too hard about what’s in them.” Rachel stretches herself out across the bed. “The product that worked the best was something Daddy picked up at the Farmer’s Market, but apparently the woman who made it moved to Colorado to live on a commune. He keeps telling me I can try to make my own, but…” **  
  
**The idea of Rachel Berry using something on her hair that a hippie woman sold off the back of her VW bus at the Farmer’s Market is so ridiculous that it makes Quinn snort. She knows that if Rachel thinks she’s laughing at her even for a second, she’s running the risk of some kind of rebuke, and that thought just makes her laugh harder. “Sorry,” she says, but it sounds like she’s really not. **  
  
**And then, a natural interest rises in her because if they’re talking… “Is that why you’re vegan?” Quinn asks softly after a moment, her voice blanketed with quiet curiosity. **  
  
**Rachel pouts, momentarily, when Quinn laughs. But then the question comes. “Because of the animals? Yes.” It’s funny, because she usually has a speech, ready to go, whenever someone challenges her on it, but in this case, with Quinn just casually asking, no hint of judgement in her voice, she can’t think of her usual rebuttal. Because she doesn’t need it. “It’s important to me to respect our animal friends… I know that sounds like something a cartoon bird would say, but I really believe in it.” ****  
  
“You’re right. It does sound like something a cartoon bird would say. But it’s the fact that you really believe in it that makes it interesting to me.” Quinn rolls her eyes. “God. Not that it matters what I think. But it is interesting. I mean, I couldn’t eat the food, but your conviction is really… it’s something you don’t see everyday, Rach. Most people don’t believe in anything anymore.” **  
  
**Rachel can’t stop the reactive smile that occurs when she hears Quinn use the shorthand version of her name, again. “It does matter. Or… well, you’re right that it doesn’t, but it’s… I like that you find it interesting. That’s the whole reason for conviction about something in the first place, right? To try and make a difference?” ****  
  
“I guess it is. I never really had much conviction about anything that wasn’t selfishly motivated.” She could sugar coat things, but what’s the point really? Rachel has seen her at her worst. ****  
  
“Not even religion?” Rachel knows that top of the list of things you’re not supposed to discuss, but it’s not like they haven’t talked about it before. “I only ask because you were pretty adamant about it when Mr. Hummel was in the hospital.” ****  
  
“I shouldn’t have to tell you that— things were different then, Rachel. I still have what you might call faith, but it’s not… it isn’t what it used to be. I haven’t been to church in a very long time.” Quinn’s tea is gone. She sets her mug on her nightstand and twists her fingers into her t-shirt because she doesn’t know what else to do. ****  
  
“Have you ever been to a renaissance festival?” In Rachel’s head, this seemingly sudden turn of conversation is actually connected to the previous conversation. “Sorry, I… was thinking about God and it reminded me of the Crusades and the knights made me think of how we watched jousting at the Ohio Renaissance Festival when I was in Ren Club.” ****  
  
“Why would I have ever been to a renaissance festival? Only los—” Quinn bites down on her lip, hard. “Sorry. That’s exactly the kind of thing that I’ve been trying to— god. I’m sorry.” **  
  
**Rachel isn’t even bothered by Quinn’s reaction. The immediate apology is more of a shock than anything. “I think you might like it. It’s all theatrics and history. Granted, it’s a difficult task to track down anything vegan friendly, but that’s only the fault of their attempts at authenticity.” ****  
  
“Isn’t it just, um, nerds who play weird medieval roleplaying games and have no problems dragging an entire turkey around by its greasy hind leg? Don’t take this the wrong way, Rachel, but I would rather take a hot poker to the face than go to one of those.” ****  
  
“Quinn! That’s about as stereotypical as saying that glee club was… full of gay kids and drama queens. Which… okay, it was. But we were also much more than that.” **  
  
**Quinn purses her lips and thinks about what Rachel has just implied. “Not all of us from glee fit into one of those categories,” she says quietly. That tightness in her chest is back, and it’s all she can do to keep from looking out the window to see if her mother’s car is out there. ****  
  
“I wasn’t necessarily suggesting that you were either, but the majority of New Directions was one or the other or both.” Rachel’s still slightly keyed up from Quinn’s jab at the Renaissance Club. “And frankly, I’ve encountered your dramatic side, more than once. You may not be the storm out type, but you certainly know how to work an audience.” ****  
  
“Rachel,” Quinn warns, because if there is one thing she will not brook, it’s a discussion about her issues with a girl who’s disposition is naturally sunny and seemingly perfect in every way. Rachel is the type of person who took a slushy in the face on a daily basis and tap danced her smiling ass all the way through high school. Quinn is not that girl, and she’ll be damned if she lets Rachel Berry of all people bring it all back up again. She’s clenching her fist tightly around her phone now, and the other hand is getting itself wiped fairly thoroughly on her cheerleading shorts. **  
  
**The tone in Quinn’s voice is clear and Rachel knows she should just shut up. “I wasn’t trying to upset you, Quinn. It was merely an observation.” It’s probably too much and she immediately wants to retract it, as soon as it’s out of her mouth. She should have gone with a further exploration of hair care or just laughed when Quinn made fun of the club. Except Rachel really did have fun at that festival and she honestly does believe that Quinn might have fun at one if she’d just stop… well, being so Quinn-like about everything. **  
  
**Quinn wants to yell. She does. She wishes she could execute a perfectly timed diva storm out, but that is Rachel’s job, isn’t it? Which is why, in part, she’s seething right now. She’s breathing hard, through her nose, and when she finally does speak, her voice is even and measured. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you, Rachel? For Quinn Fabray to be one of The Lonely Misfits. One of the drama queens or— or gay kids. Why not both, Rachel, hmmm? Just so you can get the fullest potential out of this scenario you’re so obviously enjoying. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the loneliest misfit of all. Everyone last year had someone: Kurt, Santana, you and Finn. God, even Sam came back for Mercedes.” She’s shaking now so badly that she doesn’t even notice the tears. “Is this how friendships are supposed to be, Rachel? Tell me, what else did you observeabout me last year?” **  
  
**She wants to hang up, but she’s invested now. The queen of all drama queens is speaking, and Quinn Fabray is listening. ****  
  
“That wasn’t what I—” Rachel stops herself. She can back down and try to take back whatever she said that’s shifted Quinn into her Steady Scary Voice (it’s actually what Finn calls it and it’s accurate). Except it doesn’t really scare her. It pisses her off. “Fine. You want to know?” She sits upright and crosses one arm over herself. “You were sad. You were devastated over the loss of your child and you weren’t even allowed to grieve for her because she was happy and healthy and loved. You were angry. At everyone. And yes, you were lonely. You still are.” She pauses, partly to take in another breath and also to make sure Quinn hasn’t hung up on her. “You were also incredibly driven, smart, and creative.” This is where she stops, because this is supposed to be an argument (maybe?) and if she starts throwing compliments around, it kind of defeats the purpose. **  
  
**Quinn feels like someone has slushied her from the inside out. “Right. I’m so lonely, and the magnanimous Rachel Berry is going to offer her friendship and rescue me. If you know me as well as you fucking think you do, you’d probably have realized that bringing up my daughter in this conversation was the wrong thing to do. Goodnight, Rachel.” ****  
  
“Hey!” Rachel shouts into her phone, hoping it’s enough to keep Quinn from hanging up on her. “Do you have any idea how hard it even is to get you to consider a friendship? You’re so closed off, all the time. And, I want to be your friend because I likeyou, Quinn. I want to get to know you because you’re not like anyone else I know. You’re interesting to me and I care what you think about things. So, please excuse me for expressing an interest in someone I’ve known for years who seems like maybe they could use a friend, because maybe I could use one, too.” She’s shaking a little from the intensity of the emotion she’s feeling, because she isn’t like Quinn, she can’t bottle it up and keep things slow and steady. With Rachel, it’s all or nothing, because that’s all she knows. **  
  
**The fight goes out of Quinn like air from a balloon, and by the time Rachel is finished speaking, Quinn just feels like the weary high school grad/mother that she felt like before Rachel was making her choose between being either gay or a drama queen. She’s tired. No, she’s exhausted. The entire year was like a fight for her life and now that she’s finally got her head above water, it’s an ongoing struggle just to stay afloat. **  
  
**She has no idea what to say to Rachel. The “hey!” that was shouted at her stopped her cold and she hasn’t moved a muscle since. “I’m closed off for a reason,” she finally says. She feels like it’s going to come out as a whisper, so when there’s weight to it, she’s surprised. “Nobody likesme. I’m not a likable person, Rachel.” ****  
  
“But, I do,” Rachel replies, her voice is still not as smooth as she’d like, so she clears her throat. “Because when you do open up, even just a little, you’re… the kind of person… no, the kind of friendwho doesn’t let someone go home scared after a stupid movie.” She relaxes, at least enough to lean back against her headboard. “You didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to do… any of that. But you did and you made me feel safe, all because you knew how I’d react. That’s not something an unlikeable person does, Quinn.” ****  
  
“Stop it,” Quinn says, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I can’t— I’m not—” She sighs. Why can’t she ever keep a conversation with Rachel focused on Rachel? “You said that… you need a— a friend too? Is everything, um, okay?” **  
  
**Rachel shrugs, but then that isn’t visible over the phone, so she says, “I’m not doing poorly. But… I don’t know. I guess I assumed that with the friends I did make over the last couple years, that this summer would be kind of a whirlwind of adventure. And it’s more like… I don’t know. Freshman year? It’s not that bad, at all, but everyone’s either away or busy or we were never that close to begin with… and with most of them, the only thing we even have in common is the club, which we’re not even in, anymore.” She feels terrible, complaining about this to Quinn, someone who’s dealt with intense real life problems, already, and she’s whining about how her other friends are too busy to spend the summer with her. **  
  
**If there is one thing Quinn can empathize with, it’s the feeling of being alone. She hates it. She hates it, and she would never wish it on anyone. “You know, Rachel, I don’t mind that you called me. I’m sorry that— it turned into what it did, but I’m glad you called. You can whenever, you know. If you’re bored or lonely or— whatever. You can.” **  
  
**There could be worse things in the world than having a friend for a few months, even if it's someone who thinks you’re a worse drama queen than she is. ****  
  
“Thanks. And… that goes for you, too.” Rachel bites at her bottom lip, because she suddenly has no idea what else to say. ****  
  
“Okay, well, I guess— I should probably go. I really am glad you called, Rach,” Quinn says, burrowing beneath the quilt on her bed. “If you wanted to maybe, I don’t know… try for another movie later on this week…?” ****  
  
“I’m… glad you answered.” Rachel can’t even believe she just said that. “And, yes, I’d very much enjoy that. You can come here or I can go back over there or… we can figure it out, later.” She dislikes that there’s no way to shorten Quinn’s name the way Quinn does with hers. “Enjoy the rest of your day, Quinn.” ****  
  
“Bye, Rach,” Quinn says softly and presses the end call button. She lays in bed and plays with her hair and stares at the wall without really seeing anything, lost in thought. **  
  
**Rachel listens to the sound of the line disconnecting, then drops her phone onto the bed. Being friends with Kurt didn’t make her feel like this, it didn’t make her long for the next time they planned to hang out. Yes, she was eager to see him, but with Quinn… it’s like she can’t wait. It’s almost like… no, she’s not going to compare this to anything. She’s just going to work at her friendship with Quinn. ****  
  
And maybe hope that Quinn holds her hand again, the next time they watch a movie.


	6. Poolside Shenanigans. (Or Just Lounging Around)

Even though it’s just an average summer day and she’ll be interacting with exactly one other person, Rachel can’t help but fully dress the part for this trip to lie out by the pool. It’s not enough just to throw on a bathing suit and head over to Quinn’s, especially when she’s wearing a vintage inspired one piece that demands coordinating accessories like white sunglasses and matching sandals. The floppy hat she’s chosen has too wide of a circumference to be practical while driving, so she puts it on when she exits the car. She hasn’t yet gone shopping for a cover up that works with this suit, so she’s stolen one of her Daddy’s long-sleeved white button ups, which hits just about the top of her thighs. It’s not ideal, but it’s functional. **  
  
**Anyway, it’s just Quinn. It’s not like she’s trying to impress an audience at a pool party or anything. (Though she does hope Quinn likes the swimsuit, because she values her opinion.) **  
  
**On her way up the front walk, she sends Quinn a text (“Here now. What do I do?”), as requested, then waits for instruction. **  
  
**Quinn is lounging by the pool when her phone chimes. There’s an open copy of Jane Eyre on the table beside her and a pitcher of lemonade with actual lemons floating in it. She reads Rachel’s text through her sunglasses and then types in, “Come around to the side, there’s a privacy fence with a gate.” **  
  
**Rachel finds her way over to the gate and pushes it open with her free arm, as the other one has an over-sized beach tote bag hanging from it. She spots Quinn and smiles in her direction before pulling the gate shut. “Good afternoon, Quinn,” she says, as she moves for the lounge chair on the other side of the lemonade pitcher. **  
  
**Quinn is happy for her sunglasses because that shirt that Rachel is wearing is just— what the hell? Who dresses like that to lay out by the pool? ****  
  
“You’re looking a little formal there, Rach. Couldn’t find the right tie?” Quinn says, taking a sip of lemonade and setting her glass back down. She leans back again and tries to ignore Rachel arranging herself on the lounge chair. “Help yourself to the lemonade. Sugar free.” ****  
  
“It was the best I could do on such short notice. The suit’s new and I haven’t had time to find an actual cover-up piece that matches it.” Rachel unbuttons the shirt, but doesn’t remove it. Instead, she fishes a bottle of sunscreen out of her bag and begins to apply it to her legs. “Is it fresh squeezed?” She glances over at Quinn. “I’m happy to drink it even if it’s a mix, I’m just curious about your culinary endeavors, given the way you’ve already turned me into a popcorn snob.” **  
  
**One of Quinn’s eyebrows climbs slowly and arches above her sunglasses. “It’s fresh squeezed,” she says slowly, and she doesn’t know why she’s watching Rachel smooth sunscreen along her legs. She’s seen Rachel’s legs a million times— everyone has. Those skirts that Rachel always wore in school didn’t exactly hide anything. But, then, she’s never seen them like this before, in the summer sun with almost no clothing interference and with Rachel’s hands running slowly up and down them, working sunscreen into her skin. **  
  
**It makes her feel odd, the fact that she can’t look away, and she can feel a warmth in her face that has nothing to do with the sun. She reaches blindly for her lemonade again, just to have something to do. **  
  
**The wide brim of Rachel’s hat keeps bumping into the back of the chair whenever she leans back, so she removes it and stuffs it into the tote. “Do you make a lot of things like that?” Now that she’s finished with her legs, she shrugs the shirt off her shoulders, loosely folds it, and places it in the bag with the hat. As she applies the sunscreen to her arms, she asks, “I guess I’m asking if you cook. I can bake and make a couple dishes, but I’m not versed enough to host my own Food Network show. Not at this stage, anyway.” **  
  
**After the third time Rachel bumps her hat into the lounge chair, Quinn is finally distracted from what’s happening with her legs to laugh at the ridiculousness of it. Thank god Rachel finally abandoned that idea. She would ask where Rachel found such a ludicrous hat in the first place, but she figures Rachel’s answer would inevitably be ‘oh, I saw it in a costume shop!’ and Quinn isn’t sure that she’s ready to control her reaction to that. ****  
  
“I like to cook,” she says, sinking back and closing her eyes. “It’s challenging to have a lot of different dishes going at the same time. You really have to plan. Plus, it always wows people when you make stuff from scratch or, say, float a few lemons in your lemonade.” Quinn smiles to let Rachel know she’s teasing, but then the smile freezes and sort of dies on her face because now Rachel is pulling herself out of her shirt and rubbing sunscreen into her arms. And why on earth is Quinn fascinated? It must be because she’s never seen Rachel Berry in this element before. It’s unsettling. That’s got to be why. **  
  
**Rachel’s bathing suit is something even Santana would approve of, simple and even kind of elegant in an old Hollywood kind of way. The red with white polka dots compliment her tan skin perfectly, and the cut is extremely flattering— not that she needs it. Quinn has never seen Rachel out of her school clothes, and she realizes that Rachel actually has a very nice figure. She could’ve even been a cheerleader, maybe. If she’d wanted to. “I like your bathing suit,” Quinn says from behind the safety of her sunglasses. ****  
  
“You do?” Rachel can’t help but grin in response. “Thank you.” She finishes rubbing the last of the sunscreen into her arm as she looks over the top of her own sunglasses at Quinn. “To be honest, it made me think of you, a little. You’re one of the most classic people I know.” She pulls her hair to one side and tips her head up to look at Quinn, full on. “Would you mind?” With an outstretched arm, she offers the bottle of suntan lotion. **  
  
**Crap. “Uh, sure.” Quinn takes her time getting up. She can’t explain why she doesn’t want to do this, she just knows that she doesn’t. She takes the bottle from Rachel and drops lightly to the chair behind her. There’s a dollop of sunscreen in her hand; she rubs them together, spreading it out and then her hands are on Rachel’s already bronze shoulders. Her bathing suit ties around the back of her neck, so there’s just… god, there’s so much skin, and it’s not like Quinn has never put sunscreen on a girl’s back before, but she’s never wantedto do it like she does right now. **  
  
**As soon as she thinks that, she pulls her hands away like she’s been burned and just sits there for a moment, wondering what on earth to do. **  
  
**While Rachel’s definitely gained several friendships over recent years, her contact with friends like Kurt and Tina and Mercedes was mostly limited to glee club activities and the occasional group sleepover, so when Quinn touches her bare back, she’s surprised at how intimate it feels. But it’s just sunscreen. It’s not as if it’s a massage or anything. **  
  
**The contact still manages to leave her momentarily dazed, but perhaps that’s just due to the warm sun. She should definitely hydrate once Quinn’s finished. **  
  
**When Quinn’s hands move away from her skin, it seems rather sudden, so Rachel turns to look over her left shoulder. “Is everything okay?” **  
  
**Quinn doesn’t say “yes, everything is fine,” but she doesn’t say “no,” either. She just chews her lip for a moment, her hands still hovering over Rachel’s shoulders. This shouldn’t be such an ordeal. She’s sitting very close. Rachel’s hair is shiny and soft— healthy. The sun is shining down and her skin is catching it perfectly, the muscles in her back rolling when she moves her arms and… god, what Quinn wouldn’t give for her camera right now. **  
  
**And that’s— okay. Now she’s thinking about photographing Rachel? Well, that is certainly a first, but there’s no denying that Rachel would make a fantastic subject. It’s as close as she’s ever come to thinking that Rachel is pretty, and she kind of likes it. **  
  
**Rachel is still watching Quinn over her shoulder, and Quinn lets her hands fall back to Rachel’s shoulders with a soft hum. “You don’t really need sunscreen,” she murmurs, her hands working over Rachel’s back. “Your skin is already so perfectly dark.” **  
  
**She follows the bathing suit line all the way down, squirts more sunscreen into her palm and works her way back up. She’s kind of softly kneading now, and she knows that this should have been done a while ago, but she’s still thinking about how to position Rachel by the water so the sun catches just so and sends the exactly shimmer that Quinn is looking for across Rachel’s face. **  
  
**She’s back up to Rachel’s neck by the time her imaginary photo shoot is done, and before she can stop herself, her hand slips under the knot there and runs up the back of Rachel’s neck and well into her hair, squeezing softly on the way back down. ****  
  
“There, I think that’s—” she trails off because she’s not sure what she even wants to say right now. Part of her wants to send Rachel home and lock herself in her bedroom, and another part of her wants to bury her face in the back of Rachel’s neck. What does that even mean? **  
  
**When Quinn comments on her skin, Rachel’s initial instinct is to counter with facts about damaging ultra violet rays and protection from skin cancer. Only, it’s quite difficult to conjure up any words while Quinn’s fingers move down her skin, then back upward, to her neck. That’s when her eyes involuntarily drift shut, though they pop back open when Quinn speaks to her. ****  
  
“Thank you,” she says, dropping one hand down to her side, where she finds Quinn’s leg. “I appreciate it.” For no specific reason at all, she lightly squeezes. It’s a friendly gesture. Though, she’s not sure what her intention is supposed to be, so she snatches it back up and adjusts her sunglasses. “I think I’d like to try the lemonade.” **  
  
**When she turns toward the table, Quinn is quite literally right there in her space, though it doesn’t feel invasive, they’re just close to each other. **  
  
**Rachel turns so fast that Quinn doesn’t have any time to react. One minute, she was sitting there missing her hands on Rachel’s back, if that even makes any sense, and then next, she’s staring into wide brown eyes. Her own traitorous eyes stare back and then, when she realizes, she’s on her feet in a flash. ****  
  
“No problem,” she mumbles and sinks back into her chair, feeling distinctly unsettled about the whole thing. Her cheeks are on fire, but she can’t shake the images in her head of Rachel lounging by the pool through a camera viewer. She’s embarrassed that she let that awkward moment spring up, but then again, she is trying to let her friends in more these days. And that’s what they’ve decided they are: friends. **  
  
**Quinn admits to herself that she likes being close to Rachel, like she would any of her other friends, and that she won’t deny herself the opportunity to commit to making Rachel understand that she values her friendship in the future. Just… not right now. Right now, she needs to focus and sit in her own chair and remember how to breathe again. **  
  
**Rachel carefully pours herself a glass of lemonade and takes a deep drink, hoping it cools her down, because she’s suddenly feeling very warm. It helps, though the more she looks at Quinn, lying there in her own chair, the more quickly the feeling returns. **  
  
**She’s always considered Quinn Fabray to be pretty, even when they were… at odds. In the limited moments over the years, when she’s had chances to catch glimpses of Quinn, the real Quinn who rarely lets anyone in, and she knows there’s a beautiful person who’s been hiding under all the anger and sadness. **  
  
**Inner beauty and classic aesthetics aside, Rachel also can’t ignore the fact that Quinn is… smoking hot, as Santana might say (about herself), especially when she’s looking at a well-toned blonde in a bathing suit, not two feet away. “It’s very good. The lemonade,” she sputters, trying not to choke on her drink. ****  
  
“Thank you,” Quinn says, and then runs a hand up her own arm. “I’m so pale compared to you.” She taps her freshly painted toes together. Bright red. Her go to summer nail polish color. “Oh! You can swim if you want to. I almost forgot.” ****  
  
“I think you would probably look strange if you were really tan.” Rachel sets her glass down so she can stretch out on the lounge. “Not that you would look bad, I mean you’d look different than how I’m used to seeing you.” Now that she’s not facing Quinn, her mind feels more at ease. “Are you planning to get in? I’d feel silly just swimming alone.” ****  
  
“I might jump in at some point today. It’s hot,” Quinn says, but suddenly she’s thinking of photo shoot Rachel again and how she might look with her hair wet and back from her face and that’s— Quinn doesn’t think she even has a word for how that would look. She closes her eyes and smiles. Maybe someday Rachel would let Quinn photograph her. “Let me know when you’re hungry, and I’ll make lunch.” ****  
  
“Definitely hot,” Rachel agrees. She smiles to herself as she rests her head against the back of the chair and closes her eyes. “You’re quite an accommodating hostess.” At most, she was expecting to hang out by the pool for a while, after which one of them might suggest going somewhere to get lunch, given the time of day. She wasn’t counting on fresh squeezed lemonade and a prepared meal. ****  
  
“I don’t have people over a lot,” Quinn says, taking a sip of lemonade. “It’s nice to have someone to try out a new recipe on every once in a while.” She’s settled in now, completely relaxed. Laying out by the pool is a job she was made to do. **  
  
**She wants to glance at Rachel again, but she just keeps her eyes closed against the sun. **  
  
**It’s instinct to want to remind anyone preparing food for her that she’s a vegan, but Rachel considers the recent conversation they had about vegan bacon. Then again, she wouldn’t want Quinn to waste her time on something she can’t eat. So, she attempts to cover up a reminder with her stellar sense of humor. “As long as it isn’t a meatloaf, I’m willing to try anything you feel like making.” **  
  
**Of course, it’s only funny if Quinn remembers Rachel doesn’t eat meat. **  
  
**Quinn doesn’t move when she says, “Oh, it isn’t meatloaf. It’s squid,” but she does smirk. It’s the grossest thing she can think of. Rachel will find out soon enough that it’s just vegan Waldorf salad and baguettes, but Quinn won’t tell her until it’s time to eat. **  
  
**Rachel can’t even reply, because her mouth is forced into a tight frown. She’s not even sure if she’s more upset by the prospect of eating squid or the fact that Quinn apparently did forget about her meatless diet. “I… I’ve never eaten squid before,” is all she can say, once her mouth loosens up. Maybe she can try it, just a little bit of it. It’s not like she doesn’t accidentally eat soup made with chicken stock, on occasion. She knows she’ll survive if she eats it, if she limits herself. ****  
  
“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” Quinn says. She does risk a glance at Rachel and, oh god, the look on her face almost breaks Quinn right then, but she manages to hold it together. Rachel might be pissed at her when she finds out, but she just can’t resist. “It’s best fresh, so it’s in a bucket in the garage. You know, like a lobster. It’ll take me a few minutes to kill it, but it won’t take long to cook. I think. I’ve never made it before.” **  
  
**Another sip of lemonade. Another glance at Rachel. Another smirk. ****  
  
“Wait…” This can’t be happening. Quinn wants to kill something while she’s present? “It’s… here?” Rachel wonders how long their new found friendship would last if she makes a break for it and attempts to free this poor creature. “Quinn, I don’t know if I can… I mean, it’s very kind of you to offer something that, I’m sure, is considered a delicacy, but…” She’s getting dizzy just thinking about it and the heat isn’t helping. **  
  
**Something about Rachel’s tone of voice makes Quinn prop herself up on her elbow so she can see around the table. “Hey… you okay?” **  
  
**Rachel shakes her head. She’s almost certain that if she could see her self, she’d be green. “I’m so sorry, Quinn, but I can’t… if it were from the store and already…” This is awful. “But knowing you’ll be in there… killing it… I really can’t…” **  
  
**Quinn is sitting straight up now and staring at Rachel, who looks legitimately upset. It’s possible she’s taken this too far, but she’s not sure how to stop it. Now she just feels like a jerk. She’s really at a loss so she just kind of slumps and says, “I’m sorry, Rach, I didn’t know.” ****  
  
“It’s all right. I don’t really expect everyone to build their eating habits around mine. Finn barely even remembered.” Rachel collects herself and sits forward to look over at Quinn. “I know it’s a lot to ask, especially considering you paid for it but… would it be possible for us to set it free?” **  
  
**The sound Quinn makes is— she doesn’t even know. Somewhere between a laugh and a strangled, garbled noise. Whatever it is, it doesn’t sound pleasant. Rachel just looks so heartbroken, and the only thing Quinn can think is, please don’t be disappointed in me. ****  
  
“Rachel, hey…” Quinn swallows because she’s guilty. She didn’t mean anything by it, but Rachel looks downright distraught, and Quinn feels like a horrible person. “Hey… I was just kidding. There is no squid. I was kidding.” She remembers how it had felt to hold Rachel when she was scared, and suddenly it’s the only thing she can feel right now, that desire to take Rachel in her arms and make her feel better. She grips the side of the chair until her knuckles turn white. “I didn’t know it would upset you. I’m sorry,” she says again, because she is. **  
  
**Rachel’s so incredibly relieved, she could kiss Quinn. Not actually kiss her, but in the way that it’s a saying or something people do in old movies. She’s also overwhelmed with another urge, one she’s willing to voice. “I’m suddenly overcome with the desire to push you into that pool,” she says, rather calmly. “But I’m also glad that you were never actually planning to take the life of some… sea creature in my presence. Honestly, I’m not sure if our friendship would have survived that.” **  
  
**The brief fury she felt has passed and the humor of the situation is beginning to settle in. “And I know, if it had happened, you would have steamed or boiled it or something, but I… well, I kept picturing you strangling the poor thing.” **  
  
**The image, while terrifying only moments ago, is actually quite funny, and she’s suddenly fighting back a wave of giggles. ****  
  
“Do squids even haveanything to strangle?” Rachel’s entire demeanor is different now, and Quinn feels a weight lift, but the desire to cuddle Rachel is as strong as ever. Quinn’s mind replays Rachel’s bid for the squid’s life: “would it be possible for us to set it free?” and she just kind of swells inside at the pure emotion that was all over that one question. “I… I think it’s very noble how passionate you are about animal cruelty. I can actually see you tucking a live squid under your arm and running down my driveway, searching for some kind of safety for it. It’s kind of… endearing.” She runs a hand through her hair. “I would never serve you meat for lunch, Rach. You’ve got to know that by now.” ****  
  
“I have to admit, I did consider it.” Rachel’s sitting all the way up now, arms braced behind her. “I’m glad you don’t think it’s ridiculous of me to care about things like this. Most people just assume I’m trying to be difficult.” She leans her head back and turns look at Quinn through her sunglasses. “Is it safe for me to ask what’s actually on the lunch menu?” **  
  
**Quinn’s smile is genuine, and she wonders absently how it is that Rachel is really the only person who can actually bring it out on a regular basis without even trying. “Vegan Waldorf salad and bread. I made it this morning.” She decides against telling Rachel how long she spent reading vegan cooking sites this morning before she went shopping; she’d told herself that it was the challenge of learning a whole new set of dishes to make that interested her in the project. “And I don’t think you’re being difficult. Your reaction to the squid was genuine, and if I’d realized how strongly you feel about it, I wouldn’t have said it.” **  
  
**It seems like her whole friendship with Rachel is going to be spent apologizing for one thing or another, but it’s different than it is with any of her authority figures. For one thing, Rachel doesn’t demand it. God, she doesn’t even expect it, and that makes Quinn want to lower her walls just a little bit more. She sinks back into her chair, mildly disappointed that she didn’t get to at least give Rachel a hug, and says, “Please stop trying to picture me with my hands around a squid’s throat.” **  
  
**Hearing Quinn’s concern comforts Rachel in a way that reminds her of the way she felt when they were cuddled together on the couch. “I should have known better than to think you’d actually do that.” She reaches across the empty space between their chairs so she can poke Quinn in the arm. The reminder of the visual image just makes her laugh, again. “To be fair, in this strangling scenario, you’re… well, you’re kicking it’s ass.” **  
  
**Now that she knows what they’re really having for lunch, she realizes she’s actually quite hungry. **  
  
**Quinn swats her hand away. She’s still smiling, and she tips her head down to say, “Damn straight, I’d be kicking it’s ass.” She doesn’t even realize that she’s not hiding behind her sunglasses. **  
  
**Rachel catches the glimmer in Quinn’s eyes and the smile she still has from laughing morphs into something of a shy smile. “There wasn’t really any question about it. I’ve always been convinced that Cheerios training was something akin to Navy Seals boot camp.” **  
  
**Quinn laughs at that. “I think it might actually be harder.” She raises her arms above her head and arches her back against the chair, stretching her spine. Laying in the sun always makes her feel sleepy. “So, does Waldorf salad sound better to you than fresh squid, then? We can eat whenever you’re hungry.” ****  
  
“That sounds absolutely amazing,” Rachel replies. Her gaze is glued Quinn’s midsection as she watches it flex. She’s reminded of a cat… a very sexy cat. That thought forces her to look away and fumble for her lemonade, which she nearly knocks of the table, but her reflexes are sharp enough that she catches it in time, without really spilling much. “Sorry,” the apology is automatic. “I was… thinking about something.” **  
  
**Quinn watches over the rims of her shades while Rachel steadies herself. She purses her lips and then— she can’t help asking, “Thinking about something?” The way Rachel says it just seems off somehow. “Is everything okay?” ****  
  
“Yeah.” Rachel clears her throat. “Yes. I just drifted somewhere. I think it’s the heat.” That has to be it. And if it isn’t, it’s believable. **  
  
**Why is she thinking about Quinn like this? She’s sitting here, objectifying her friend, thinking about how amazing she looks in her bathing suit and, as of this moment, suppressing the urge to ask if Quinn needs any more sunscreen, because she suddenly wants to touch her. Instead of doing that, she busies herself with the rest of the lemonade in her glass. **  
  
**Quinn is going to ask for clarification because Rachel is the singular most focused person she’s ever known. For Rachel to drift off over anything, it must be fairly riveting, and she would say so but her phone chimes and she reaches for it. It’s Brittany, texting to ask if she wants to come hang out with her and Santana at San’s house. She texts back that she has Rachel over and drops her phone back on the table. ****  
  
“Sorry. That was just Britt asking me to come over and hang out,” Quinn explains and stretches again. The more she thinks about it, the more she thinks she would like to cool off in the pool before lunch. ****  
  
“Oh. Did you need to go?” Rachel hopes the answer is no, but she also realizes that Brittany is someone Quinn’s known for much longer than the two of them have been hanging out together. She doesn’t let herself watch the second round of stretching, because it’s making her feel something she can’t quite pinpoint. **  
  
**It’s something familiar, yet totally new to her, and it’s driving her a little crazy. ****  
  
“No, I don’t need to go,” Quinn says, and then adds as an afterthought, “dork.” She’s settled again, on her back, eyes closed, soaking up as much sun as possible. “My mother may be a lot of things, but she did not raise her daughter to invite a friend over and then kick her out so she can go hang out with another friend. Besides, I need somebodyto eat the vegan meal I made for lunch.” **  
  
**Today has actually been a good day. Aside from almost making Rachel flee the city of Lima with a Freedom Squid stuffed in her beach bag, this has actually been one of their better attempts at being friends. Of course, the day isn’t nearly over, so Quinn is certain that she can still find some way to screw it up. **  
  
**One side of Rachel’s bottom lip is trapped between her teeth, but the other pulls upward as she smiles at the confirmation that they are, in fact, actual friends. She relaxes and rests back against the chair, putting Quinn’s body out of sight, for now. “What’s it like? Hanging out with Brittany? The few times I’ve been around her without Santana, she either started talking about how there’s a cat that proved interdimensional travel or how she wants to find a country where PEZ is currency.” ****  
  
“She definitely has a different way of looking at the world. Her brain just makes connections differently than most people, but she’s not stupid. She’s actually very internet savvy and she knows pop culture and current events. I think she watches television for the commercials, but she picks stuff up.” Quinn debates whether or not to share this next part with Rachel. What the hell, they’re friends now, right? “I actually wouldn’t have made it as Cheerio captain without her. She… helped me with my dancing and conditioning.” **  
  
**There. It’s out there and there’s no taking it back. She doesn’t think that Rachel will laugh at her or Brittany, but there’s always a chance that she’ll lose respect, and that’s always important to Quinn, no matter who’s opinion is in question. For some reason, though, it matters more to her that it’s Rachel. **  
  
**None of what Quinn says surprises Rachel, other than the part where Quinn needed help with anything, ever, because she’s so graceful and intelligent and seems to pick things up without much difficulty. “That makes sense. I’ve gone to Brittany for assistance with dance, too. Both personally and, as you know, for the club. She’s one of the most talented dancers I’ve ever seen.” Her glass is empty, but there are still a couple ice cubes in the bottom, so she fishes one out. “I also once asked her for fashion advice and that’s how you all ended up wearing myclothes.” To punctuate the statement, she lobs the ice in Quinn’s general direction, not taking much effort to actually aim. **  
  
**Quinn yelps when Rachel’s ice cube hits her collarbone, slides down her chest, and sticks in her bikini top. It’s cold against her sun-heated skin, and she jumps out of reflex, her hand flailing into the table and spilling her lemonade. Her legs are over the edge of her chair in a second and she’s on her feet, several things happening at once. **  
  
**Rachel is first laughing and then gasping as the lemonade spills and then stilling almost immediately with wide eyes to see what Quinn will do. The shock is over now, and Quinn calmly digs the ice cube out of her cleavage and tosses it to the patio. She’s grinning at Rachel as predatorally as she can and she steps closer and closer to Rachel’s chair. ****  
  
“Nice shot, Berry,” she says. “There are consequences for that little move.” And then she’s scooping Rachel up in her arms and walking her slowly to the pool, drawing it out. Rachel is the one flailing now, and Quinn is very careful to hold as tightly as she can so that she doesn’t drop her on the concrete. ****  
  
“What? Quinn? What are you?” This can’t be happening. Quinn Fabray has just physically picked her up and is moving for the pool. Of all the things going through Rachel’s mind, one of them is that Quinn’s really strong, another is that Quinn can be both terrifying and sexy at the same time, and yet another is that she really likes being dramatically frightened and clinging to Quinn. That last thought, though, is somewhat buried in the back. **  
  
**Rachel’s immediate concern is that she’s about to be thrown into the water and that water is going to be much colder than the warm summer air around them. She stops struggling and wraps her arms around Quinn as tightly as possible. “Listen, Fabray,” she counters, “if you want to put me in that pool, you’ll have to go in, too.” **  
  
**The very first thing Quinn thinks is that Rachel is even lighter than she looks, if that’s even possible. Quinn hasn’t been a cheerleader in a very long time, but when she was, she was used to doing stunts and throwing her own body around, as well as the fliers on the team. Her upper body strength is still spectacular, and she knows it, but she’s still honestly surprised by how light Rachel feels in her arms. **  
  
**The second thing she thinks happens after Rachel succumbs to her plight and slides her arms around Quinn’s neck, and it’s not even a real thought really. It’s just— wow.It’s better than holding Rachel on the couch for some reason she can’t explain. She just knows that she really, really likes it. The feeling unfurls in her gut like a bird spreading it’s wings, and she lets her eyes fall closed for just a second while she experiences it. It’s brand new, this feeling, and she’s just trying to hold on. Rachel’s words bring her back, threatening to pull Quinn into the pool with her, and they make her laugh and shiver at the same time. **  
  
**Suddenly, Quinn’s not sure of her next move. The way Rachel is clinging to her, there’s no way she can just drop her into the water. So she smirks and says, “Oh really now?” just that close to Rachel’s ear. “That’s not as much of a threat as you think it is, Rach.” She flexes her toes against the edge and bends her knees and then— **  
  
**The water isn’t warm, but it’s not exactly cold either. She can still feel Rachel in her arms and the sun in the water and everything just feels kind of perfect. **  
  
**Once Rachel realizes that Quinn isn’t backing down, that they’re both about to plunge into the deep end, she grips even more tightly, if that’s even possible. As they hit the water, she squeaks because the expectation is that it’s going to be cold. It’s cool, but not as devastating as she imagined it would be. She holds her breath and keeps her eyes tightly shut as they sink toward the bottom. **  
  
**After about three seconds, she realizes she should probably release her hold on Quinn, so they can both eventually surface in a timely manner. Except she doesn’t really want to let go. **  
  
**Quinn can feel Rachel squirming in her arms, but she’s not ready to let her go just yet, so she hugs her tighter. Her feet hit the bottom of the pool and she pushes off as hard as she can. She got her lifeguarding license a few summers ago so she could work at the YWCA, and right now Rachel is being a model victim. She’s not struggling or panicking or trying to drown Quinn herself, and as soon as they break the surface, Quinn drops Rachel’s legs and brings her arm up around Rachel’s waist. Rachel’s arms are still around Quinn’s neck, and Quinn keeps them afloat by kicking her feet while they catch their breath. **  
  
**Rachel’s impressed with Quinn’s ability to keep them both above water. Impressive is a word she’d use for everything Quinn’s done since she hoisted her up off the lounge chair. She doesn’t want to be dead weight in the water, though, so once her legs are free to move, she treads water right along with Quinn. ****  
  
“I was supposed to push you in the pool, remember?” she asks, still a little out of breath. She’s looking at Quinn’s face, because they’re very, very close to each other, which is what happens when you have your arms wrapped around someone. Quinn’s hair is stuck to her head (and she knows her own is doing the same) and she has water dripping down her face. Rachel thinks she looks absolutely beautiful. **  
  
**And that’s exactly when she recognizes the familiar feeling that’s been prodding at her this whole time. ****  
  
“Sorry. I guess I should have asked if you swim before I just tossed you into the pool. This is okay, right?” Quinn brushes back the hair that’s plastered to her face as best she can with the back of her hand. The water feels amazing. She hadn’t realized how hot she’d been getting. ****  
  
“Uh huh.” Rachel nods, then realizes she really has no idea what Quinn just asked her. She’s too busy thinking about the fact that she’s… attracted to Quinn. As in, she likesher. With feelings. **  
  
**Suddenly, it’s a lot harder to keep herself afloat. **  
  
**She reaches out an arm toward the side of the pool, but Quinn still has an arm around her waist. “Can we move over there, though?” ****  
  
“Shit, of course. I’m sorry.” Quinn lets Rachel go and swims with her to the edge. She ducks under water briefly, tips her head back, and comes up so her hair is smoothed back. “Are you not used to swimming? We’ve always had a pool, and I lifeguarded for a few summers, so I don’t really even notice it anymore. I practically grew up in the water.” ****  
  
“No, I am. I took lessons when I was younger. You just… surprised me.” Rachel needs a second to herself, so she pushes herself back underwater. **  
  
**Things seem… awkward now. They are. Rachel is acting awkward, and Quinn has no idea why. Maybe she should have just left well enough alone. Maybe they’re the kind of friends who will just never be able to goof around. Maybe Rachel is too serious and focused for that. She should have realized, but she was trying to make things comfortable between them, and she obviously failed. **  
  
**When Rachel resurfaces, Quinn is several feet away, swimming backwards slowly toward the ladder. “So, are you ready to try my famous vegan Waldorf salad? We can just head in and have lunch.” **  
  
**Rachel’s surprised to find Quinn already moving away from her and she wonders if she was already being painfully obvious about her newly realized feelings. But they’ve only existed, at least knowingly, for about ninety seconds, so she doesn’t think that can be possible. And she wants, more than anything, to be friends. **  
  
**She doesn’t answer the question about lunch. Instead, she dives back under the water until one of Quinn’s feet is within reach, then she pulls her down with her. It’s retaliation. **  
  
**It’s also a distraction, which isn’t Rachel’s ideal approach to any situation, but she needs some time to work it out. **  
  
**All Quinn knows is that one minute, she’s watching Rachel dive under the water and then the next, she’s being yanked underwater herself. Immediately, her mind flashes back to watching Jaws for the first time when she was little and that feeling of “oh god what has got me?” comes back for a fraction of a second. And then she’s kicking and pushing away and trying to figure out how to get a hold of Rachel instead and go on the offensive. She grabs for Rachel’s arm, but Rachel twists away from her and she kicks back to the surface and gasps for another breath. **  
  
**Rachel’s head is already above water when Quinn comes up. “Yes, Quinn, I’d love to try that salad,” she says, as if they’ve been engaged in conversation without an underwater interlude. She smiles sweetly, like a proper house guest and casually swims for the ladder, though she’s watching to make sure Quinn doesn’t lunge for her. ****  
  
“Okay, sure, Rach,” Quinn says, following. “I’ll be right behind you. I’m actually starving, and I can’t wait to try this salad.” She can see Rachel glancing nervously over her shoulder, and she just wants to laugh because it’s not like that’s going to stopher. She waits for Rachel to pull herself halfway up the ladder before she surges up, wraps an arm tightly around Rachel’s waist, and falls backward with her entire body weight, pulling Rachel down into the water with her. **  
  
**When they come up again, Rachel is sputtering, and Quinn laughs genuinely. “You can’t honestly expect to get away with stuff like that.” ****  
  
“Me?!” Rachel swipes her hand across the water in an effort to splash Quinn. “You’re the one who threw us in the pool.” The laughter she hears gives her that same warm feeling she experienced while Quinn was applying the sunscreen to her back. This is actually happening and she has no idea what she’s going to do about it. **  
  
**Other than splash more water at Quinn’s face. **  
  
**Quinn grabs at Rachel’s hands to stop the splashing. “Come on, we’re even now, and I really am hungry. Lunch?” **  
  
**Rachel nods as Quinn’s hands grip her own. “I already said I wanted to eat. Then you attacked me.” ****  
  
“Oh please. ‘Attacked’ is way too strong of a word. Come on, you dork, let’s eat.” Quinn pulls her toward the ladder by her hand, and as a gesture of trust, she climbs the ladder first. Her feet slap on the concrete and she drips water across the patio. She pulls two towels out of the wicker basket by the door, and brings one back for Rachel. “After you,” she says once they’re dry enough, and ushers Rachel in through the patio door.

 


	7. Friday Night

Quinn sat on the couch, legs stretched out in front of her, typing on her computer. She skipped a song in iTunes and filed a photo she liked in her “inspiration” folder. Santana said she was coming a while ago, and she still wasn’t there. Quinn scrolled through another page of photos with one hand, twirled a strand of hair with the other, and just waited for San to show up.

Santana checked the clock as she ran out the door, realizing she had told Quinn she would be there a while ago. She hurried to her car and made her way to the other side of town. She parked in front of the other girl’s house, killing the engine and making her way to the door. She rang the doorbell a few times, knowing it would piss Quinn off. ****  
  
“God, Santana, chill,” Quinn mumbled as she pulled open the door. “Ass. Come on in. Do you want to watch a movie or something?” ****  
  
“Hello to you too, smiley,” Santana pushed through the door, heading right into the living room. “Movie sounds good to me, none of that foreign shit you usually make me watch, though.” She plopped down on the couch, kicking her sneakers off and throwing her feet up on the table. ****  
  
“Whatever, S, it’s not like watching something from another culture will kill you. You pick something you want to watch then. I don’t really care what it is.” Quinn dropped next to her on the couch and turned her attention back to her laptop. “If you want something to eat, there’s stuff in the refrigerator I think.” ****  
  
“But it will kill me, a painful torturous death from boredom,” Santana smirked knowing she was being overly dramatic. The idea of getting up to find a movie wasn’t very appealing to her, so she grabbed the remote and found the movie channels and began to flip through them. “Boring.. boring.. stupid.. foreign.. porn… more porn.. Jesus Q, what’s with all the porn channels?” she joked settling on some comedy she’s already seen a bunch of times. ****  
  
“What?” Quinn looked up, distracted. “Whatever that is, it isn’t anything I’ve ever watched before, so I wouldn’t know.” She rolled her eyes and pulled her legs up underneath her. She’d really been tagging and bookmarking a lot of photography and art sites lately, and it was making her want to get her camera and shoot some photographs of her own. She leaned her head back on the couch and watched the television through lidded eyes. ****  
  
“I’m sure you haven’t” she mumbled under her breath. She noticed how out of it the other girl looked so she moved her foot over to kick the other girl in the leg. “What’s your issue?” ****  
  
“What? I haven’t.” She wanted to really protest, but she knew that it would only make Santana screw with her more, so she swatted Santana’s foot away from her instead. “What are you talking about? I don’t have an issue.” She ran a hand through her hair and tried to ignore the way Santana was looking at her. ****  
  
“You’re fidgety and you’ve got that ‘I’m depressed’ look on your face. Don’t try to pull that shit with me, I know you too well for that to work,” Santana told her knowing the girl was purposely trying to play it off like nothing was going on. She’d dealt with an emotional Quinn far too many times to actually accept her saying nothing was wrong when she clearly had something on her mind. **  
  
**Quinn sighed. “What do you want me to say, San? I’m not having a fantastic summer, but there’s really nothing I can do about it right now. I’m trying to bail myself out, but it’s going to take time, and I can’t just flip a fucking switch and be instantly happy. It doesn’t work like that.” She nudged Santana’s foot once more. “I know I’m a bitch. But I’m glad you’re here anyway.” ****  
  
“Okay, I’m not asking you to be instantly happy, I just… Fuck, you’re getting me all fucking mushy again… I just wish you’d talk to me about stuff. I know you’re not happy, but that doesn’t mean you have to keep everything in.” Santana took a deep breath. She hated being emotional like that, she enjoyed being a bitch much more but she didn’t really have it in her to be a bitch to Quinn right now. “You’re allowed to be a bitch, it’s how we work, right?” Santana told her, remembering the other girl’s words from before. ****  
  
“It’s how we work,” Quinn echoed and then bit her lip. “Where did you get accepted?” They hadn’t talked about this, not really. Quinn hadn’t wanted to, and she suspected that Santana didn’t want to bring it up to her. **  
  
**Santana glanced over at Quinn, they never talked about college, ever. It wasn’t brought up when it was time to apply and it wasn’t talked about when acceptance letters came in. She knew Quinn wasn’t going to college right away and it was a sensitive subject for her. “I got into OSU, Syracuse, USC, UCLA, NYU, and, um, crap there’s one more. Oh, Florida State. Britt insisted that we had to apply to at least one school in Florida. Don’t ask me.” She kept her eyes on the other girl, trying to gauge her reaction. **  
  
**Quinn felt like all the air was vacuumed out of her lungs. God, it was so many schools. She closed her eyes and tried to take a breath, but she just couldn’t get anything to work how it was supposed to. Of course Santana had gotten into all the schools she’d applied to. She was smart. And with cheerleading and glee and— and everything, of courseshe got in. **  
  
**Quinn forced a smile and said, “Have you made a decision yet?” **  
  
**Santana could see how hurt the other girl was, she saw right through that fake smile. She knew better than to push her right now, if Quinn wanted to talk about what was going on in her head, she’d talk to her. “Actually, yeah. Britt just heard back from the dance program she had applied for so we’re actually heading to New York,” she knew hearing about college was hard, but she could only imagine it would be harder for Quinn now that she knows not only Rachel would be in New York, but so would Santana and Brittany. ****  
  
“Good, San, that’s—” She tried for another deep breath because fuck all if watching everyone in her life leave her behind wasn’t one of the hardest things she was ever going to have to do. She needed this to be sincere. “I’m actually really proud of you, if you can believe that. It’s going to so good for you, living in New York. Britt too.” **  
  
**There. It was sincere. It was the best she could do. She went back to scrolling through photographs on her laptop. ****  
  
“Of course I believe it,” Santana knew that Quinn was proud of her, but she also knew how hurt she was about it. “You know it’d be good for you to be in New York, too. With everyone that cares about you.” If Santana was the type, she’d probably be hugging Quinn right now but that’s just not who Santana is. That’s always been the thing Brittany would do. **  
  
**Quinn’s stomach lurched at Santana’s words. She legitimately felt sick. Of course everyone who cared about her would be in New York. Jesus Christ. “Yeah, well, it might be good for me, but it’s not happening, Santana,” Quinn bit out. She could feel the tears, but she’d be damned if she let them fall. “Thank you so much for the reminder that everyone one who cares about meis leaving in a few months. Awesome.” ****  
  
“It can happen though, you just need to make it. There’s clearly enough motivation,” Santana shot right back knowing it was going to incite the girl. “You’re not happy with the situation, do something about it. You’re just going to be sitting on your ass in Lima, right? So sit on your ass in New York instead.” Santana knew her and Brittany would probably get a small apartment for themselves to live in, and she’d have no problem opening it up to her best friend as well. ****  
  
“I’m working on it,” Quinn gritted out. “It’s not like I can just pick up with no job and nowhere to stay and— I don’t have any money, Santana.” She’d honestly never thought about New York for herself before, and with Rachel there and now San and Britt, it might actually be good. If she could get over the feeling of following someone else to another city. That was just— no. Not happening. Quinn Fabray does not follow anyone anywhere. ****  
  
“If you could put your pride away for one second, you’d realize that there are ways. You can get a job there, you’d have a place to stay,” Santana knew that it would be a long shot trying to convince Quinn to come to New York with them, but the idea of having her best friend there with her actually made Santana want to fight to get her there. ****  
  
“Not interested. But thanks.” She hoped that her tone of voice would convince Santana that this topic was closed for discussion. It depressed her, and she really just wanted to watch a dumb romantic comedy and move on. **  
  
**Santana watched the other girl turn back to the tv, she knew she could continue to push the topic and probably completely set Quinn off, or she could let it go for now and enlist her secret weapon, Brittany. “That’s a lie, but whatever.” Santana got off of the couch and made her way to the kitchen, not really wanting anything but knowing if she sat there any longer she might blow up at the stubborn girl. **  
  
**Quinn watched Santana go and rolled her eyes. She honestly did not care about the movie playing, but she cared even less about thinking about her future. She clicked a link and found a website showcasing a photographer’s work that was just— wow. She bookmarked it and scrolled through the gallery. ****  
  
Santana took a deep breath and surveyed the kitchen in front of her. For having two people actually living in this house, there really wasn’t a lot of food to be found. She made her way to the fridge and grabbed to bottles of water before turning to leave again. “You guys living off take out?” she asked Quinn throwing the second water bottle next to her on the couch.  
  
Quinn levels a look at her. “Of course we’re not. Well, I’m not. God only knows what my mother is doing.” She shuts her laptop and stretches out, nudging Santana with her foot. It’s not cuddling with Rachel, but it’s the most she can muster up with Santana anyway and right now, she just needs to feel like she’s not so alone.

 


	8. Artspace / Lima

Quinn pulls up in front of Rachel’s house and drums her fingers on the steering wheel. She hasn’t been to Rachel’s house since that horrible glee club party, and she’s not really sure what to do now that she’s here. She definitely doesn’t want to go inside. **  
  
**She texts Rachel instead, and then just turns up the radio and skips ahead on her iPod. She’s excited to see the photography at Artspace Lima. **  
  
**Rachel’s been ready to go for at least twenty minutes, but it still takes her another five to get out of the house. She’s nervous because she hasn’t hung out with Quinn since that night with all the questions about kissing. **  
  
**Ultimately, though, she decides the best thing to do is avoid the topic. **  
  
“** Hey,” she says as she opens the car door. “Sorry, I couldn’t find my house keys.” She hates lying and already feels like this afternoon is going to be a disaster. **  
  
“** Hey,” Quinn says, and just keeps softly drumming until Rachel gets settled. “It’s fine. Are we just going straight to Artspace or did you have somewhere else you needed to go first?” She thinks about maybe telling Rachel that she’s been looking forward to this all week, but she’s not really sure how that would go over. Things with Rachel have been kind of awkward, and she really doesn’t want to make things worse. **  
  
**Once Rachel buckles her seatbelt, Quinn pulls away from the curb. She fiddles with the volume again and waits for Rachel’s instructions. This whole thing was her idea, after all. **  
  
**The radio gives Rachel a little breathing room, since it alleviates the pressure to talk too much. “Not really. Unless you want to stop for anything.” **  
  
**She hums along with the song and reminds herself to relax, because this is Quinn and they’ve been pretty good at being friends, so far. If Rachel can just keep from saying anything ridiculous, they’ll be fine. **  
  
“** Nope. We can just go straight into town. I’ve been looking forward to this,” Quinn says, and then she doesn’t say anything for a while because there doesn’t seem to be anything to say. The next song that comes up on shuffle is a Jenny Lewis song, and Quinn sneaks a glance at Rachel out of the corner of her eye and smiles when she sees the recognition on Rachel’s face. “Been expanding your music base, I see.” **  
  
**Rachel nods and quickly brightens. “I really have and I’m surprised it took me until now to even get into her music, given that she’s had both successful acting and singing careers. Thank you for making the recommendation.” She flips down the visor to check her hair in the mirror, not that she needs to see it because she just looked at herself before she left the house, but gives her something to do. **  
  
**Quinn chews her lip for a moment and then asks, “Do you like her, then?” She doesn’t know why she even cares because it’s not like it’s her music under scrutiny, but for some reason it’s really important to her, what Rachel thinks about the music she listens to. “I have most of her stuff. If you wanted to hear more.” **  
  
“** I really do,” Rachel says, pushing the visor back into its upright position. “Her lyrics are refreshingly original, too. I mean,” she turns a little toward Quinn, “I love a good Katy Perry song, but my ability to personally identify with the existence of a plastic bag is limited. It’s part of why I wanted to start exploring new music options because showtunes are fairly literal and pop is… pop.” **  
  
**Quinn smiles openly at that. “Well, if you’re interested in original lyrics, I might suggest Modest Mouse or Harvey Danger. They’re both slightly different from what you’ve been trying, but it’s similar to the offbeat sound that Jenny Lewis has. Just maybe a little… bandier? That’s not a word, I know, but I’m not sure how to explain it. I can make you a mix, and you can see what I mean.” **  
  
“** I’d really like that,” Rachel replies. It’s too quickly, though, she thinks and wonders if Quinn will find it weird. But why would she if it was her idea in the first place. “It’s always a little overwhelming because there’s so much out there. I know what I like, but there are only so many listening hours in a day. So, having someone who knows music and also knows me…” She trails off because she’s worried about over explaining, as always. It doesn’t help that Quinn suddenly makes her nervous in a way she hasn’t really experienced before. **  
  
“** Uh, right.” Thankfully, they’re pulling up to the Artspace and Quinn doesn’t have to say anything to that. The way Rachel has been acting isn’t lost on her, and frankly she’s not entirely sure how to respond. It’s slightly awkward, to say the least, and she just parks and cuts the engine. “I’ve been doing a lot of research lately on photographers, so thank you for suggesting this. Are you ready?” **  
  
**She’s out of the car before Rachel can really respond. **  
  
**Rachel takes the brief moment to herself as an opportunity to close her eyes and take a deep breath. By the time she exits the car, she’s collected herself and prepared to take on the role of Friendly Photo Exhibit Companion and not Rachel Berry, Nervous Wreck. **  
  
“** I’m glad I saw the write up on the Lima Arts Community webpage. And, like I said before, this is an area where I have plenty to learn. So, I’m thankful one of us is informed.” **  
  
“** Well, I don’t know how informed I really am, I mean, I just started becoming interested in photography. At this point, it’s not really even a hobby— just an interest.” **  
  
**Quinn leads the way, mostly because she’s still unsure of how things are supposed to go right now. When they get to the door, she starts to hold it open for Rachel just because it’s the polite thing to do, but thinks at the last minute that maybe someone as independent and advanced as Rachel is might take offense to someone assuming she can’t get her own door. So she sort of awkwardly lets go and then they’re both trying to squeeze through the space at the same time. **  
  
“** Sorry,” Quinn mumbles and turns sideways to let Rachel pass. **  
  
**As Rachel slips past Quinn, she makes eye contact, though it’s entirely on accident. “It’s okay,” and she giggles, out of nervousness. **  
  
**Once she’s free of the doorway, she steps into the galley lobby and approaches the donation box that stands in the center of the space. The exhibit is free, but supported by contributions, so she stuffs a ten dollar bill in the slot and hopes it’s an acceptable amount. **  
  
**Quinn hadn’t realized that there would be a charge for the exhibit, but she’s luckily got some cash on her. She follows Rachel’s example and shoves a ten down in the box as well, because it’s only fair that she contribute for herself. She rolls her eyes because, god, she’s even starting to think like Rachel a little now, and then just kind of meanders to the side. This is the first time she’s been here, and she’s hoping that Rachel will take the lead. **  
  
**Rachel’s been here exactly once before, with Kurt and Mercedes, and that was over a year ago. The exhibit at the time has been a fashion retrospective and they knew much more than she had about everything that was on display, so she spent most of her time listening to them argue over who ranked as the most influential designer of the twentieth century. **  
  
**There are two doorways that both lead into the same space, so she chooses the one on the right. Already, it’s clear that the setup is different than her previous trip. This one is much more like a standard display of art, with frames lined up along the wall. **  
  
“** I assume we just start here.” She glances back at Quinn. “I’ve only been here one other time.” **  
  
“** Okay,” Quinn says, and then she’s kind of lost because the first photograph is just— wow. It’s just a simple landscape, but the way the light and shadows create kind of a push and pull has Quinn squinting and tilting her head to the side. She sort of hums under her breath and thinks, I could do that. **  
  
**Truthfully, Rachel’s more interested in Quinn’s reaction to the photo than the picture itself. “May I ask what you’re thinking when you look at this? I can tell when something looks good and is presented well, but that’s about it.” **  
  
**She looks from Quinn to the landscape, then tilts her head in a similar fashion, in an attempt to see whatever Quinn sees. **  
  
**Quinn can feel the blush creeping up her neck. She honestly doesn’t know what she sees. How do you physically see an emotion? But for some reason she can’t put a finger on, she likes it that Rachel wants to know anyway. **  
  
“** Um, I’m not… sure.” It comes out sounding like a question, and she glances at Rachel briefly before staring at the photograph again. “I mean, the way the sun filters through the trees and hits the water is beautiful and it immediately catches the eye. But that’s… it’s not what I’m drawn to. I like the darkness. It’s beautiful, and it had to be taken at exactly the right time of day with the perfect weather conditions, but… there’s more to this than what you can see from this one vantage point. It’s what you don’t see that makes it interesting.” **  
  
**Her cheeks are burning now. She really has no idea what she’s even talking about; she’s just trying to explain what she feels, and it’s— **  
  
“** I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I’m not very good at— talking about… well, anything.” **  
  
**When Rachel studies the image, she doesn’t see anything new, after Quinn’s explanation. She understands something, though. **  
  
“** I get it. It would be like me trying to explain why a certain song makes me feel something.” It’s so simple and she feels silly for not making the association before now. “It’s personal.” **  
  
**She steps to her left, realizing she should probably give Quinn some space. “I think you did just fine. With the talking,” she adds, before moving toward the next photo. **  
  
**Quinn is still looking at the photograph, but not really seeing it. She’s ready to move on, but what Rachel has just drawn out of her has breached something that she spent a very long time constructing, and she needs a minute. She runs a hand through her hair and tries to stop herself from turning this into something big. It’s not a big deal. She talked to Rachel about a photograph, for god’s sake, and that’s all that happened. **  
  
**A few more deep breaths, and she joins Rachel at the next photograph down. **  
  
**The next one is similar to the first, or it is to Rachel, since it’s another landscape. For all she can tell, they could be incredibly different, the way Oklahoma and Sweeney Todd are both musicals but still nothing alike. She refrains from commenting on it, because she doesn’t want to come off as ignorant and she’s hoping that she might gain something from this trip. **  
  
“** This is what you like to shoot, right? Landscapes?” The fact that Quinn seems both interested in and adept at the visual arts really intrigues her, because she knows there must be so much emotion inside of her, waiting to be expressed. **  
  
**Whenever it finally surfaces, Rachel knows it’s going to be phenomenal. **  
  
“** Hmm, maybe,” Quinn says, as she looks at the landscape over Rachel’s shoulder. It’s a fine enough picture - a shot of a lake with some kind of boat against the far shore - but it lacks the emotion that Quinn felt at the first photograph. Her answer is noncommittal because she doesn’t fully understand what she wants to shoot yet. She’s done some landscapes but they haven’t really moved her the way she thinks art is supposed to, so she’s leaning more towards trying some other styles. **  
  
**She decides - she doesn’t like this boat-on-the-lake. “This one is empty,” is what she says out loud, but it’s soft enough that Rachel might not hear it. She moves on before Rachel has a chance to show her. **  
  
**Rachel feels she’d be content just following Quinn around the space and listening to her thoughts on each and every piece, she just doesn’t know if that would be acceptable. The next picture, the one Quinn’s already viewing, isn’t a landscape at all. It’s a black and white of an old man on a bench. **  
  
**To her, this one has character. “Okay, see, pictures of people, I understand. It’s like he’s still waiting, all this time. Maybe for a bus, maybe for someone to meet him.” As she speaks, she steps closer to Quinn so she can look more intently at the photo. “He’s alone, but not lonely.” It’s almost as if a scene plays out in her mind, like a movie or a play. She’s always been good at character exercises and this feels just like one of those. **  
  
**Quinn lifts an eyebrow at Rachel’s observation. “You really think he isn’t lonely? I think he lost his wife, maybe a year ago. And he used to go to the park and play chess and feed the pigeons and now he just sits on the bench and watches the bus go on without him.” She doesn’t look at Rachel but adds softly, “Art’s a funny thing, huh?” **  
  
“** It’s his eyes,” Rachel explains. “They aren’t sad. He’s content.” Quinn’s last question pulls her attention away from the man and she looks at the profile of her… date. Her platonic date. “Yeah. It is.” **  
  
**Quinn can feel Rachel’s eyes on her, and she tries to focus on the photograph. She’s looking for any signs of contentment in the man’s face, and she just can’t. He looks— “He looks peaceful. It’s not the same thing. Just because… you’ve accepted reality doesn’t mean you’re not lonely.” She finally breaks down and looks at Rachel, and the way she’s looking at her is just— “Please don’t pity me,” she says softly. **  
  
**As much as Rachel tries to understand certain things about Quinn, there are some aspect she just can’t figure out. This moment is one of them. One second, they’re looking at art. The next, Quinn says something like this. **  
  
“** I… don’t.” It’s all she can think to say in response, because… how do you respond to something like that, out of the blue? She wants to take Quinn by the hand as a gesture of support, but things are already awkward, given the conversation they had over the internet the other night. The last thing she wants is for Quinn to assume she has some kind of ulterior motive. **  
  
**But then, Quinn’s always telling her to do what she wants, to say what she means, to react the way she truly feels about things. So, she carefully reaches for Quinn’s hand and urges her toward the next set of photographs. “Come on. We have a few dozen more of these to see.” **  
  
**If there were ever a moment to stop Quinn’s lungs from working, it’s this one. Sure, they’ve been physically closer in the past few days, and it hasn’t been a big deal at all. In fact, Quinn never even really thought much about it. But this is different. They’re in public, and— she glances around, nervous, but then… nobody is paying attention to them at all. She can’t help the smile that erupts at the realization that what they do here just doesn’t matter to anyone. She feels invisible, and it’s the best feeling she’s felt in a long time. **  
  
**She relaxes her hand into Rachel’s grasp and allows herself to be led. When they stop again, she halfway nudges Rachel’s shoulder and says, “Tell me what you see in this one.” **  
  
“** In this one?” Rachel’s still slightly shocked that Quinn didn’t run, freeze, or slap her. Once it settles in that Quinn’s hand is staying in hers, the shock fades to a warmth that seems to buzz in her chest. She feels light. Content, even. **  
  
**She forces herself to look at the image in front of her. “I see…” There are two young boys sitting on the edge of a dock, fishing lines cast into the still water of a lake that reflects the colors of the setting sun. “Brothers, maybe. If not, maybe best friends. There probably aren’t even fish in that lake, but it doesn’t matter.” **  
  
**Quinn just laughs and says, “Nerd,” before pulling her to the next one. When Rachel shoots her a questioning look, she shrugs. “I can’t explain why I like certain photographs and not others. I just don’t know. Sorry.” **  
  
**And then she turns and the laugh just dies in the air because— god, it’s not like she’s never seen a nude portrait before, but never when she’s with another girl whose hand she’s holding, and— She suddenly feels like it’s far too hot in the gallery, and she looks around helplessly for a window or a door or something. There doesn’t seem to be any way out other than the front door, and she really doesn’t like the idea of freaking out in the middle of this gallery, so she grits her teeth and forces herself to stand in front of the nude like everything is fine. How can it be, when she feels like she’s the one who’s actually exposed? **  
  
**She rubs at her forehead with her other hand and allows her eyes to sweep the lines in the photograph. It’s a good photograph, and she tries to focus on that and forget that there are certain people who would expect her to behave in a certain way in this situation. **  
  
**Rachel feels Quinn tense up, especially because the arm attached to the hand she’s holding goes rigid. And, okay, she also wasn’t expecting to see any nudity on this outing, but it’s art and they’re adults and maybe she has to take a slow, deep breath to remain grounded, but then she’s fine. **  
  
**Quinn, on the other hand, looks about ready to climb up the walls, just to get away from everything, so Rachel takes a cue from their movie night and gently strokes the back of Quinn’s hand with her thumb. “So… she’s naked.” It’s not even what she plans to say, but it just comes out and it’s suddenly very difficult not to giggle, but she’s trying to keep it in. Adults, remember? **  
  
**It’s one of those things that isn’t innately funny, but the sheer fact that you’re not supposed to laugh makes it hilarious and somehow a twisted bark of a laugh works its way up Quinn’s throat and echoes off the walls. The more she tries to calm herself down, the funnier it becomes, and she can just hear Rachel’s awkward (and obvious) observation in her head like it’s on a loop. Another laugh is imminent, and in order to suffocate it, Quinn sort of leans into Rachel and presses her hand to her mouth. **  
  
“** Oh my god, stop,” she breathes, and the truth is she’s really not sure if she’s talking to Rachel or herself. **  
  
“** I’m not doing anything,” Rachel manages, before biting her bottom lip in an attempt to keep her laughter from surfacing. But it’s really too late, because she’s shaking and Quinn’s laughing. A member of the gallery staff glares at them, so Rachel maintains the handhold to move them along, except the next image is another of the same series, as is the next one. “We can’t get away,” she muses, then looks to Quinn for any kind of suggestion. **  
  
“** Does it bother you?” Quinn asks, suddenly serious. “I only ask because— it’s not the actual nudity that bothers me, it’s the social implications. My mother would— there are certain expectations that come with being a Fabray, and I’m trying to figure out how I— I just wanted you to know that it doesn’t bother me, the actual art, but if you wanted to leave…” **  
  
**Why does everything always have to degenerate around Rachel Berry? **  
  
“** Does what—” Rachel calms enough to process the question. “The pictures? No… not at all. I certainly wasn’t expecting them, but…” She takes a moment to turn back toward the closest of the nudes so she can really look at it. “I can appreciate what this is. And… I’ve seen much less tasteful images when I’ve borrowed Noah’s laptop, in the past.” **  
  
**Her fingers squeeze around Quinn’s hand. “I don’t want to leave.” **  
  
“** Gross,” Quinn blows some air up at her bangs. “Okay, we’ll stay.” She turns her attention back to the photograph before them. It was kind of beautiful, Quinn conceded. “I’m still thinking about photographing people,” she says because she’s not sure what else is safe to talk about right now, under the circumstances. **  
  
“** With or without clothes?” Rachel asks as she nudges Quinn’s arm with her elbow. She assumes they’re discussing more traditional photography, but she’s still a little giddy from the gigglefest. “I only ask because I have a strict no nudity clause in all my contracts.” **  
  
**How could Quinn possibly defend herself against the image that invades her mind? It’s only there for the flash of a second, but it’s enough. Rachel, lying by Quinn’s pool, stretched out on a lounge chair with one arm crooked above her head, hair soft and wavy, flowing around her shoulders. Rachel is wearing classic Ray Bans and nothingelse. It doesn’t help that, in her mind, Quinn is looking through a camera. Camera or no, she is imagining Rachel Berry naked. **  
  
**Her entire face colors and bursts into heat. She banishes the image as quickly as she can, but the damage is done, and she presses a hand to her cheek. “Oh my god, Rachel, with. What is wrongwith you?” she hisses. **  
**No matter what happens right now, she can’t look at Rachel because Rachel will see the furious blush in her cheeks, and she’ll know and then what will happen? Quinn Fabray isn’t a girl who spends time thinking about what her friends look like naked. Ever. What’s really alarming her is the fact that the idea of shooting Rachel in the nude doesn’t put her off in the slightest. In fact, it’s actually kind of intriguing, and she’s embarrassed that she actually had to force the image away. “God,” she mutters once more and tries to concentrate on the artwork in front of her. **  
  
“** It’s a fairly common disclosure, Quinn. And as a young female performer who’s trying to establish herself, I do get plenty of offers.” It’s only after she says it that Rachel realizes Quinn’s actually flustered and, by the look of the pink tinge creeping up her cheek, blushing. **  
  
“** I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s just something I actually have to consider, now that I’m eighteen and no longer have to file a police report whenever someone makes that request. Not that you requested it. I brought it up. And, I wouldn’t mind doing something tasteful for the sake of artistic expression, though it could possibly limit the roles for which I’d be considered. Or it could open up new ones.” These are all legitimate professional concerns and Rachel is fully capable of continuing on. **  
  
**Wait. “Someone has asked you to pose nude before? And you had to file a police report?” Quinn can’t keep the shock out of her voice, and it comes out in kind of a harsh whisper. This is the kind of thing that she would have loved to exploit in high school, but now she just kind of feels weirdly protective and a little sick to her stomach. **  
  
**It’s kind of unbelievable that Rachel is talking about this with such detached precision, almost like… well, it makes sense. It’s her career, and though this is completely new for Quinn, Rachel has probably had this discussion with herself - and maybe even her dads - several times. She tries to push down her embarrassment when she says, “I’m not— uncomfortable. I just… can we please talk about something else?” **  
  
“** There was a point in time when my MySpace account was very active and it wasn’t uncommon to find certain types of requests in my inbox. Technically, the police report was part of a temporary restraining order against Jacob Ben Israel, but he was quite adamant about wanting me to pose for something he kept calling ‘JBI’s Hotties of McKinley Project’ and it was highly inappropriate.” Rachel stops herself, because Quinn would clearly like a change in topic. “Yes, of course. Sorry. I tend to…not know when to shut up.” **  
  
**Now Rachel’s slightly embarrassed, not about the topic, but because she clearly still has plenty of work to do when it comes to making conversation that doesn’t alienate others. “Would you like to move on?” **  
  
“** You have no idea,” Quinn mumbles, and then just sort of sheepishly nods before pulling Rachel along to the next photograph - another nude, this time of two women together and sort of, well, cuddling. “Well, now that the shock has worn off, I think I actually might be able to objectively look at this like an actual piece of art.” As an afterthought she adds, “Jewfro is a creep.” **  
  
“** He really is. And—” Whatever rant Rachel has about her dislike of Jacob dies out as she takes in the imagery. **  
  
**Rachel’s a professional, through and through. She prides herself on it. Despite her less than mature reaction to the first of the nudes, she can generally approach most works of art with an objective eye and look at it for what it is. **  
  
**And it isn’t that she reacts immaturely to this one, she’s just hit with something unexpected. **  
  
“** This one is…” Turning her on? “Nice.” **  
  
**Quinn allows herself to take in the photograph without passing a judgement on whether or not she likes it at first. She sees, not two women initially, but lines and shadows and perspective. She’s trying to train her eye artistically, to be able to methodically take in a piece of art and process it internally. Once she’s done that, she considers the subject matter. It seems like it should be erotic, the way the photographer has positioned these two women, but it doesn’t feel that way to Quinn. On the other hand, it’s not exactly comforting either. **  
  
**They kind of seem… detached. Here are two women, completely nude, clinging to one another, and yet they both seem completely isolated. The artist has managed to capture a feeling of negativity in what would otherwise be a very warm scene, and she can’t figure out exactly what it is that makes it that way. **  
  
“** I love this one,” she finally says out loud. **  
  
**Rachel’s really making an effort to view the piece as something other than two naked women together, but she’s already started thinking about what it would be like if she were one of them and if Quinn were the other. Not these women, specifically. But if they were nude… together. She’s not even sure why her mind goes there, but it makes her acutely aware of the warm hand, still in hers. **  
  
“** Uh huh.” She clears her throat, because she didn’t even intend to reply, just yet. “Anything that specifically, um, speaks to you?” **  
  
**Quinn’s eyebrow quirks automatically because the way that Rachel’s voice just cracked, it’s almost like she’s nervous. Surely not a girl who was just talking about whether or not nudity was permitted in her contract would be nervous in front a photograph of two naked women? She doesn’t relish the thought of adding to Rachel’s discomfort, so she just shrugs. “There’s a juxtaposition there. Contradicting emotions. Physical intimacy and emotional distance. It’s interesting.” **  
  
**She’s trying to be as clinical as possible, but Rachel’s hand feels heavy in hers, and her cheeks are still warm from her embarrassment over thinking about Rachel posing for her. She examines the photograph again, and the image of Rachel by the pool is back and more vivid than ever. **  
  
**She clears her throat. “Um, maybe we should—” **  
  
**Rachel nods, because she doesn’t really know what words will come out if she tries to speak. What’s wrong with her? Oh, right. She’s apparently crushing on Quinn. It’s more than that, though. There are some kind of genuine feelings in all of this, but she’s been wary of really investigating them because she doesn’t want to jeopardize this friendship, she doesn’t want to disappoint Quinn. She’s not sure how her liking Quinn would be a disappointment, but Rachel’s fairly positive it isn’t something she’s prepared to handle. **  
  
“** Come on, there’s gotta be…” Quinn surveys the space, and thankfully this is the only artist who has submitted nudes for this show. “Here,” she says, and leads Rachel down several photographs until they’re looking at a rather boring (in Quinn’s estimation) still life. But at least it’s not making her think about Rachel by the pool. **  
  
**Rachel hasn’t even looked at the photo, because her eyes are closed as she forces herself to breathe and re-center, which is something she’s picked up from doing tai chi workouts with Kurt over the spring. When she finally opens them back up, she sees the typical presentation of a bowl filled with fruit. **  
  
“** Well, this just makes me hungry,” she says, pleased with herself for so quickly regaining her sense of humor. **  
  
**Quinn rolls her eyes, but her smile is genuine. “Maybe we can get some lunch when we’re done here…?” **  
  
**Why not? She likes hanging out with Rachel, and they’ve got to eat. It’s a logical conclusion. **  
  
“** I’d definitely like that. Especially if you plan to make me look at more pictures of food.” Rachel adjusts her grip on Quinn’s hand so she’s not clinging quite to tightly. “I am really having a good time, though. Even if…” She glances back toward the nude photography section. “Thanks for not making fun of me. I’m usually much more professional than that.” **  
  
“** Food? Rachel, it’s a still life. It’s— crap you find laying around that you organize into a photograph. It’s probably not even real.” She’s giving Rachel a hard time, but she’s smiling and happy. Until she thinks about what Rachel just said, and then she turns serious enough to say with sincerity, “I’m done making fun of you.” **  
  
**Rachel’s eyebrows raise. “As in, forever? I don’t know if I could handle that. I count on you to keep me grounded, you know.” **  
  
**Quinn half snorts, half laughs. “Do you honestly think that I could keep myself from making fun of you forever? It’s not humanly possible, Rach. I just meant… not maliciously.” ****  
  
“Good.” Rachel wishes she had some kind of nickname for Quinn. She can’t really shorten her name to anything other than “Q” and she feels that it’s already a thing Brittany and Santana call her. “Now, come on. I need you to tell me more about photography so I can stop embarrassing myself.”


	9. Clearing Things Up: the art of secret meetings via carrier pigeons  (or possibly just messaging over the internet)

Rachel said that she wanted to talk, to “clear things up,” so here Quinn is, walking herself through the Lima Bean’s front door. Hearing that Rachel might have some kind of feelings for her over the internet isn’t exactly the highlight of her year, but all things considered, it’s not the worst thing either. Not by a long shot. In fact, Brittany and Santana have been soliciting her for years to join them, and she’s always let it roll right off— it doesn’t bother her. Why would it? She’s not gay. **  
  
**It might have irked her that Rachel was talking about her on the internet, but that’s really the extent of it. So when Rachel said she wanted to clear the air, Quinn is all too happy to let her. She likes how things have been between them, and she just wants everything to go back to how it was. **  
  
**Rachel’s sitting at a table in the back, where she’s been for the last fifteen minutes, sipping on an iced mocha. She doesn’t generally do coffee, as her general demeanor is already quite animated, but she’s drinking it today. **  
  
**It may have been the wrong choice, given that she was already antsy about the conversation that’s about to happen, though she can also always default to book club selection ideas, if she needs to. But really, she wants to talk to Quinn about this… crush thing. Because the sooner it’s evident that the entire thing is pointless, the sooner Rachel can just get over it. **  
  
**When Quinn enters, Rachel casually waves at her in order to be seen, despite the fact that there are probably ten patrons in the entire establishment. And it’s also the same table they occupied on their previous visit together. **  
  
**Quinn returns Rachel’s wave and orders herself a large raspberry tea. She fiddles with her phone until her order is called and then joins Rachel at the table. **  
  
“** Hey.” She notices Rachel’s drink and lifts an eyebrow. “That’s not— is that decaf?” **  
  
**Soon enough, she’s sitting, and Rachel’s sitting, and… well. It’s time to have this discussion. **  
  
**Rachel shakes her head with possibly a little too much fervor. “Regular.” That’s all the explanation she offers, because that’s really all there is. “How’s your week? I haven’t seen you since the art gallery.” She pauses, only briefly. “I mean, I kind of know what you’ve been up to because of your blog but… anything good? Or new? Or old things that you haven’t done in a while that seem new because it’s been so long?” **  
  
**This is awful, because Rachel can’t stop herself from talking. It’s worse than normal because of the caffeine and it’s pathetic because she’s only had one cup. Not even a whole cup. **  
  
“** Oh my god, Rachel, breathe,” Quinn says, and before she can really stop it, she brushes her hand against Rachel’s to get her to focus. It’s meant to be calming. “You should… really stop drinking that.” She sips at her tea and then says, “I haven’t done anything new since the gallery. Can you just—” She wants to say relax, but it’s clear that they’re way beyond that point now, so she just sips her tea again instead and waits for Rachel to say whatever it is she has to say so that they can move on. **  
  
**When Quinn’s hand touches hers, Rachel looks down at it, though the contact is brief and she barely catches it. However, it’s enough to keep her from rambling on and she nods as she pushes her cup aside. **  
  
**She’s the one who told Quinn she wanted to discuss this, so she knows she has to be the one to bring it up. “Um, so…” It’s an immediate reversal of her previous speech pattern. There aren’t even words present to find, even though she thought about everything she wanted to say in the car on the way over. And this morning in the shower. And last night, before she fell asleep. **  
  
**The problem is, she knows what she ideally wants to say to Quinn. She also knows that it’s not that easy. There’s also the fact that this is all new to her, this experience of liking a girl. And everything she knows about people and attraction and sexual orientation tells her that it’s absolutely no different than liking a boy. She’s always been entirely comfortable with the idea of being attracted to the same sex. **  
  
**But it’s always been just that: An idea. **  
  
**The fact that she’s been thinking about Quinn, non-stop, all week… that’s a brand new reality she’s still trying to figure out. So, talking about it is harder than she imagined it would be. **  
  
“** Obviously, you read what I wrote about how I… feel…” She figures it’s probably safest to open with that. **  
  
**Quinn tries to reign her laugh in enough to pass for a smile. It’s not malicious; not like it used to be anyway. God, if this had happened a few years ago… the thought makes her bristle and the smile fades immediately. If this had happened a few years ago, she would have destroyed Rachel Berry. **  
  
**But it’s not a few years ago, and Rachel is her friend, and this must be confusing and awkward for her, going through a phase like this. Quinn wants to understand, to offer support. **  
  
**She’s not entirely sure if the old Quinn will come out right now, so she clamps down and kind of winces as she nods and waits for Rachel to continue. **  
  
**Rachel wipes her napkin over the trail of condensation her cup left on the table when she pushed it aside. “I don’t even really know when it… when I started thinking about you like that. Maybe it’s just because we’ve been hanging out more.” She looks up, catches Quinn’s eye, then focuses on the table, again. “But I don’t want you to think that’s why I wanted to hang out. Because I really do like being your friend, Quinn. And I don’t want… I don’t want to mess that up.” **  
  
**Quinn does smile at that, and it sticks. “I don’t want to mess it up either, Rach. I never thought I would ever say this, but I really like being your friend too.” She blows some air up at her bangs. “And, you know, things don’t have to be weird between us. Though, just out of curiosity— how strong of feelings are we talking here?” **  
  
**She’s partly teasing, but she’s also genuinely curious. **  
  
**The question catches Rachel off-guard, because she’s honestly expecting Quinn to just nod and change the subject. “Oh… I… well, I wouldn’t say I’m pining for you, if that’s what you’re trying to find out.” She even manages a small smirk, because she’s proud of the light jab, in light of everything. Something about this exchange makes her feel secure that their friendship is still intact. “I just think about you, a lot.” She shrugs not sure how to expand on that. “This is new to me. With girls, I mean.” **  
  
**Both of Quinn’s eyebrows arch. “You think about me a lot?” She traces her fingers around the edge of her cup, rolling Rachel’s words around in her head. She’s never heard anyone say that about her. Not Puck, who wanted to get in her pants; not Finn, who supposedly was her first love; not even her parents or Frannie. She’s never really thought much about it, until now. Rachel thinks about her. A lot. **  
  
**She likes the idea of someone thinking about her. It’s not even her fault, really, that the next question out of her mouth is, “Think about me, how?” She can’t help it; she has to know. **  
  
**Rachel’s mouth opens, then closes before it opens, again. She didn’t imagine that Quinn would ask for details. **  
  
“** Sometimes I just wonder what you’re doing, but then I can usually just see that on your blog. If I’m working on a song… it’s possible that I consider what opinion you might have on it. Those things aren’t new, though. Some of the otherthoughts I’ve had…” Rachel can’t even look up from the straw wrapper she’s been folding and re-folding. “… those are new. And please don’t make me explain them, right now.” **  
  
**As soon as Quinn realizes what Rachel thinks she means, she can feel the blood in her cheeks. “Oh god, Rach, I didn’t mean— I wasn’t asking what you thinkabout me.” She rubs at her forehead and then says again, “god.” This didn’t feel awkward for her before, but it sure as hell does now, sitting across from Rachel while they’re both thinking about how Rachel thinks of Quinn… “I just, I meant it's more sweet than anything. People don’t really consider me. I wasn’t asking for you to disclose your— you know what, nevermind.” **  
  
**If this isn’t progress, she doesn’t know what is, because a month ago she would have been out the door long before now. She isn’t as concerned about getting the hell out of there as she is about making sure Rachel is okay. **  
  
**The fact that she just embarrassed herself for no reason makes Rachel put her hands over her face. “Oh my god.” She takes in a deep breath and counts to five as she exhales, something she does to calm nerves before a performance, though she rarely needs to do it, anymore. Her hands drop to the table and she forces herself to actually look at Quinn. “This is ridiculous. I like you and that’s something I have to deal with, not you.” The biggest worry she has about all of this is making Quinn feel weird. **  
  
**Quinn would be lying if a small part of her didn’t flare itself out and strut around at Rachel’s words. Rachel’s “I like you” echoes in her head, and she allows herself to feel smug for a brief moment. It’s nothing like how she used to feel manipulating Finn and Puck into doing what she wanted them to do. This is completely different. She doesn’t feel the same way about Rachel, but she’s not put off by it in the slightest. In fact, her ego actually likes the attention. **  
  
**She just smiles softly at Rachel and says, “I don’t mind, you know.” **  
  
**She can’t really reciprocate, so it’s the best she can do. **  
  
**Rachel feels herself returning the smile. **  
  
**This isn’t ideal, but then anything in her life that’s happened off-stage has never really gone the way she’s expected. She wonders how long it will take for this feeling to fade, but then she watches Quinn do something as simple as take a sip from her drink and she just looks… perfect. Which isn’t new, because the image of perfection is something Quinn manages rather easily, but it’s only recently made Rachel feel this absurd butterfly feeling. **  
  
“** I can’t decide if you being so nice about this is making it easier or not,” she admits. **  
  
**Quinn laughs at that and then admits, “Well, honestly, I kind of like the attention. Is that… horrible? I mean, I don’t want to lead you on, but it’s really nice having someone legitimately like being around me. It doesn’t happen very often.” Quinn’s hand is still stretched across the table, and she kind of wants to touch Rachel again, but she’s afraid that would fall under the “leading you on” category, so she just leaves it where it is and takes another drink. **  
  
“** I think I’m the last person who can judge anyone for liking attention. So, no. Not horrible.” Rachel reaches for her coffee, then reconsiders. “We’re okay, then? Being friends?” She notices the close proximity of Quinn’s hand and hates that it suddenly feels like it would be too much to reach for it, when just last weekend, they were hand in hand at the art gallery. An unexpected sigh escapes at the thought. **  
  
**Quinn sees it, sees Rachel’s eyes trained on their hands, so close together. She wants nothing more than for them to remain how they have been, but she doesn’t want to be insensitive to Rachel either. In the end, she traces a fingertip lightly over the back of Rachel’s hand. “I don’t want anything to change, Rach,” she says softly, casting a nervous glance around to make sure nobody is paying them any attention. “But I don’t want to make things harder on you either…” **  
  
**She decides that, in the end, it’s best to just let Rachel decide what she can handle. **  
  
**Rachel’s reaction is to quickly shift her hand so it’s on top of Quinn’s, effectively trapping it between her own and the table. “Then maybe we should pick another book and go from there?” As much as she’ll think about this for days and probably listen to plenty of overly emotional music from a variety of genres, Rachel’s done talking about this, for now. Not that she doesn’t have more to say, but there’s nothing that she thinks Quinn actually needs to hear. **  
  
“** Sure, Rach, that sounds good,” Quinn says, still toying with Rachel’s hand. Things feel back to normal, and that’s good. “Oh, listen, before I forget… I was hoping you would want to go with me next week to see the fireworks. You don’t already have plans, do you?” **  
  
**Rachel shakes her head. “I don’t actually. My dads are going to some barbecue party at a friend’s, this year. I was told I was welcome to tag along, but I’d much rather do something with…” The next word out of her mouth is going to be “you” but that seems a little intense, given the conversation they just had. “… someone under thirty-five.” ****  
  
“Okay. It’s a,” date is the wrong word, so Quinn fills in with, “plan.” She blows some air up at her bangs. It looks like everything is perfectly normal, and that’s exactly what she wanted.


	10. Baby, You're a Firework

So, it’s the Fourth of July.   
  
Quinn told Rachel that she would pick her up before sunset, and here it is, nearly dusk, and it feels to Quinn an awful lot like a dingy photograph. She can’t wait any longer, so she heads over to Rachel’s house to pick her up. She thinks about waiting in the car and texting Rachel she’s here like she always does, but for some reason she gets out of her car and is walking across Rachel’s front lawn before it even registers.   
  
She rings the doorbell, and waits.   
  
Rachel isn’t expecting the bell to ring and it startles her, because she’s standing right under it as she slips on her shoes. She’d seen the car pull up when she was in her room and was already on her way downstairs when Quinn apparently came up to the house.  
  
She hopes it’s Quinn who’s at the door, because she has no idea who else it would be. There’s a last minute hair check in the entryway mirror and she before she opens the front door.  
  
“Hi.” It is, in fact, Quinn standing there and she feels silly for assuming it would be anyone else. She self-consciously runs her hands over her skirt and wonders if she should just exit the house or let Quinn inside. They’ve never done this before. Not that it’s anything other than a friend picking her up, but she doesn’t want to be rude. “Did you want to come in?”  
  
The question takes Quinn off guard. “Oh, uh… sure?” she says, and suddenly she’s standing in Rachel’s foyer, rocking back and forth awkwardly on her feet. She’s not really sure what she’s doing, but she’s determined that tonight is going to be perfect. It’s the Fourth of July, for one, and she loves the Fourth of July.   
  
This shouldn’t be awkward— god, she really doesn’t want it to be— so she offers, “I really like that shirt,” hoping that a compliment will put Rachel more at ease.   
  
“My dads have been gone for at least two hours, so don’t worry about having to talk to them.” Rachel has no idea if that’s actually a concern of Quinn’s, but she feels like it might help make her more comfortable. “Do you want a soda or anything? We have the organic kind with cane sugar. I don’t drink it very often, because it’s not the best thing for my voice, but they’re good. Especially when it’s hot out.”  
  
“Uh, okay.” Quinn wonders absently why on earth she should be expecting to talk to Rachel’s dads, but then Rachel mentions the pop, and Quinn focuses on that instead. “Oh, I’ve always wanted to try that. Is it any good? I actually brought some snacks and stuff, so that will be perfect.”   
  
Rachel laughs. “I just said it was good.” She heads into the kitchen and assumes Quinn will follow. “I guess we should just take them with us?” After looking in a couple of the lower cupboards, she finds a small, soft-sided insulated lunch bag with the RENT logo emblazoned on the side. She slips past Quinn to the refrigerator and removes two of the bottled drinks, then places them in the sack, along with a blue ice pack from the freezer. “There,” she says with a sense of accomplishment that’s probably more reserved for tasks that take longer than seven seconds.  
  
Quinn rolls her eyes. “Whatever,” she says, but she’s smiling. Once Rachel has the drinks ready, Quinn just asks, “ready?” and leads Rachel back to the door. “I brought a blanket too, for us to sit on. And my iPod, if you wanted to listen to some music. The weather is supposed to be good.”   
  
It’s a little ridiculous, she’s starting to sound like Rachel when she’s nervous. She’s anxious to get to the park and find a spot to spread out. The sun is getting lower in the sky, the photography is getting dingier, and Quinn can’t wait to see the fireworks. It’s one of her favorite times of the year.   
  
“If I wanted to listen to some music?” Rachel makes sure the door’s locked behind her, then walks with Quinn to the car. “I checked the weather report three times, today. There was that one year… I think it was freshman year? Maybe the one before that. But I remember there was that storm that rolled in.” She looks up at the clear, still sky. “Not tonight, though.”  
  
Quinn laughs. “Of course you did.” She opens Rachel’s door without even thinking about it before walking around and getting in herself. “I’ve really been looking forward to this. I feel like since you planned Artspace, it’s only fair that I get a shot at planning something too.”   
  
She suddenly feels — not really shy; Quinn Fabray doesn’t do shy — but she’s… what? Apprehensive? Nervous? Those aren’t right either, but she’s definitely feeling something that’s different. She chalks it up to just wanting the evening to be fun and pulls away from the curb.   
  
“I didn’t so much plan anything as simply suggest we go, but I appreciate that you asked me to join you this evening.” Rachel places the insulated bag down by her feet, then fastens her seat belt.   
  
“I wonder if anyone we know will be at the park. Though, Finn and Noah are camping out by some lake and I think Kurt went with Blaine to a Dalton party.” She fiddles with the air vent until she’s content with how it’s positioned. “I guess most of our friends probably feel like they’ve outgrown watching the fireworks. I’m glad you don’t seem to think so, though.”  
  
“Are you kidding? I love the Fourth of July. I’ll never outgrow the fireworks. I, um, may have gone overboard, actually.” Quinn doesn’t tell Rachel that there is a picnic basket in the trunk filled with vegan-friendly snacks or that she’s made a playlist on her iPod specifically for the occasion. Thinking about it now, she’s kind of embarrassed that she let herself get carried away. “Last year was… kind of a letdown, with everything going on. I was trying to be this out-of-control badass, shoplifting things with Mack in the mall, but really I was just thinking, ‘I could be watching the fireworks tonight.’ I really missed it, so this year is kind of important to me. I mean, I still have zero idea who I am, but I know for sure that I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else tonight. That’s something, at least.”  
  
She’s rambling and now, for some strange reason, trembling, and she would close her eyes if she weren’t driving. Instead, she grips the wheel and tries to steady herself. It’s ridiculous that driving to the park to see a fireworks show should make her so unstable, and she silently demands it of herself to get a grip. It’s just nice, she reminds herself, that she has a friend who accepts her however she is, mess and all, and actually even likes her in spite of it, for some strange reason. It should calm her, but it really just makes her tremble more.  
  
“Well, I’m fairly sure my unofficial middle name is ‘overboard’ so I’m confident that you’re in good company,” Rachel replies, taking a moment to make sure her iPhone is safely tucked away in her purse. She also has a playlist mapped out, in case of emergency.  
  
“You mentioned you talk to Mack… frequently? I never really had a chance to get to know her. Mostly because she seemed to want to punch me in the face.” Rachel’s curious about Quinn’s friendships outside of Glee club, though she isn’t really sure why it should be any of her business.  
  
Quinn can’t help but laugh. “She never would have really hit you, you know. I wouldn’t have let her.”   
  
That makes Rachel smile and relax into the passenger seat. “I’ve always admired how you manage to keep control over the company you keep. I don’t know how you do it, honestly.”  
  
“I don’t-” Quinn stops short because, really, what can she say to that? “I don’t do it on purpose,” she ends up saying in a quiet voice. She’s still fiddling with the steering wheel, still trembling. “You… admire that?”  
  
Rachel nods. “It’s because people respect you, Quinn. Maybe it’s also because they’re scared of you, but there’s something about you that makes others want to follow you… I mean, you’ve managed to regain the role of Head Cheerio, twice. And then when you weren’t even tied to any organization, you still had people willing to take orders from you. That’s not something anyone can do.”   
  
“Oh,” Quinn answers, and there just isn’t anymore she can say. Rachel has this indescribable look on her face, and Quinn just needs them to be at the park so she can get out of this car. It’s so hot right now. “I don’t know, Rach, I just… I hold people at a distance, I guess, and most people respond to that. I never really thought of it as a good thing. I use people to get what I want. Or, well, I did.”  
  
“I personally think you’d be a spectacular director,” Rachel muses as she watches out the window.   
  
As much as she’s spent the last several days trying to shake this crush she has on Quinn, she feels quite comfortable in the moment. They’ve been messaging back and forth online and it feels like they can banter, the way friends do and that’s seemed to help things. “So, where does today rank on your list of favorite holidays?”  
  
Quinn thinks for a minute and says, “Thanksgiving, Fourth of July, Halloween.” She surreptitiously watches Rachel for a minute before adding, “President’s Day, Arbor Day,” at the end. She turns off the main road onto one of the park roads and the tires crunch on the gravel road. If she can just get the car parked, she’ll have something to focus on, and she’ll be okay.   
  
“Funny, I haven’t seen you down at the community center when we’re planting trees on your fifth favorite holiday.” Rachel takes the opportunity to poke Quinn in the shoulder to emphasize her point.  
  
“I love Thanksgiving and Hanukkah. And Christmas. I suppose I like the wintery holidays, because of the warmth from the fires and everything just feels… cozy. Not that don’t also love days like today. Any chance for celebration is always a positive thing. Except Monday Night Football.” Rachel’s face scrunches as she things about it. “That I never quite understood, but Noah and Finn and my Dad are really into it.”  
  
Quinn rolls her eyes. Of course Rachel take it completely in stride that two of Quinn’s favorite holidays are President’s Day and Arbor Day.   
  
She pulls into a parking space and checks herself in the rear view mirror after turning off the car. She brushes fingers through her hair - she’s no longer trembling, but it’s still so sweltering inside the car. “Not a big fan of football, huh? I’m actually… fairly adept at it. I’ve seen so many games from cheering that the rules just kind of… I don’t really follow any teams though. It’s just something I did in high school because it was expected.”  
  
She climbs out of the car and closes the door behind her.   
  
Rachel makes sure to grab the lunch bag with the sodas before exiting the car. She meets Quinn by the trunk, because she assumes that’s where the aforementioned blanket resides. “It’s not that I don’t enjoy sports as a spectator, I just don’t plan my day around them. I do fully appreciate what athletes must endure before… performing?” She’s not sure if that’s the right word, but it makes sense in her head. “I wish I’d been able to see the Cheerios in their prime, because I always heard that you were the best of the best. Especially when you were captain.”  
  
“Performing.” Quinn tilts her head sideways and squints. The sun is setting just behind Rachel and the way the light is playing off of her hair, and with Rachel saying things like athletes performing, she just feels… warm. She feels very warm, but then, it’s so hot outside. She’s got an arm full of blanket and the picnic basket in the other hand and says, “Could you…?” and nods at the trunk. Rachel pushes down on it and closes it with a thunk. Quinn says thank you before leading the way across the grass. It’s crowded, and they have to weave their way through families and couples who are already seated, but once they find a spot and sit down, it won’t be so bad. She glances over her shoulder. “You never came to a game? Not even when you were with Finn?”  
  
Rachel follows behind Quinn, keeping an eye out for any decent open spots. “Oh, I came to games, but I wouldn’t count that as seeing you in competition, would you? I would have liked to have seen you at Nationals. Hey, do you think over there is good?” she asks, pointing to an unoccupied patch of grass. She’s unsure what direction the fireworks will be coming from, but they’re supposed to be in the sky, so she assumes any space with a clear view upward will be satisfactory.  
  
“Yeah, that looks good,” Quinn agrees and fans out the blanket in the open space. The sun is nearly gone now, and she sinks to her knees and pulls an electric lantern from the basket and turns it on. “It’s getting dark,” she offers sheepishly when she sees Rachel’s look, and ducks her head. “Nationals were, um, definitely the best thing about being a Cheerio. Besides all the free stuff, I mean. It was a high-energy competition. I think you would’ve liked it.”   
  
She opens the picnic basket and removes several dishes. “I wasn’t sure if you’d eat anything for dinner, so just brought an assortment of stuff. Pita chips and hummus, homemade salsa, fresh fruit and vegetables. There’s also a thermos of lemonade. And you brought the pop, so…” She gives Rachel a look that says, “is this okay?” and pops the lid on one of the bowls so she can offer it to Rachel.   
  
Rachel drops down to join Quinn on the blanket and reaches to help herself to the pita chips. “Quinn… this is fantastic.” She surveys the food spread in front of her.   
  
Again, she finds herself comparing Quinn to Finn, even though it’s really unfair. Quinn’s not dating her and Finn was… Finn. But still, this is their second official outing together and Quinn’s apparently prepared an entire vegan snack menu. “Are you… is this all stuff you’ll eat, too? Because you didn’t need to just cater to me.”  
  
“Mhm, it’s all stuff I like, don’t worry,” Quinn says, trying the hummus. “It’s good, right? I made it.” She grins at Rachel and takes one of the sodas to try. “Gosh, this is really good, too,” she says. She’d like to nudge Rachel with her shoulder, but they’re sitting a little too far apart for her to reach without it being obvious and awkward. She nibbles at a carrot stick instead and tries to think of a way to naturally shift closer.   
  
“Told you,” Rachel says, in regard to the organic soda. She takes a moment to take in the families around them. It’s nice, being here, in the park. “Usually, my dads and I would go to my daddy’s friend’s place, on the north side of town, because we could catch both the Lima fireworks and the smaller display from Columbus Grove.” She casually moves toward the middle of the blanket, so she’s centered on it for the upcoming fireworks. “I like this, though. This is much more fun than listening to them talk about politics and whether or not John Mayer is actually a douchebag.” Rachel looks up at Quinn, almost apologetically, “Their words, not mine.”  
  
“I didn’t know that you actually used the word ‘douchebag.’” Quinn is only mildly shocked because Rachel may be a lot of things, but a prude is not one of them. Rachel is close enough to nudge, and she takes advantage of it. What surprises her, though, is that she doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t want to pull away.   
  
She can smell Rachel’s shampoo - Trader Joe’s, she reminds herself - and she can feel Rachel’s arm against hers. It’s warm outside, but it’s not too hot anymore. It suddenly feels comfortable, sitting with Rachel like this, and she doesn’t move. In fact, she positions her arm so that it’s more behind Rachel, and leans back, supporting her weight on her hand. “I like it, too,” she finds herself saying out loud, in barely more than a whisper.   
  
“I don’t, generally,“ Rachel replies in regard to the mild profanity. She’s very aware of the closeness between herself and Quinn and she’s still having a hard time determining what’s simply a friendly distance and what’s… more than that. But then, Quinn appears to be comfortable with this, so Rachel figures this is just fine. She still sits fully upright, because she’s sampling all the food Quinn brought. “Which direction will the fireworks be?” she asks, looking up at the currently empty sky. “I know they’ll be up,” she continues, before Quinn has a chance to make fun of her, “but they’re out of the football field, right? So… That way?” Rachel points toward what she thinks is north, but she really has no idea.  
  
“Mhm, I think so,” Quinn says, but she isn’t looking in the direction of the football field. She’s become fascinated with Rachel’s hair. It’s so healthy and silky looking, and the urge to run her fingers through it is overwhelming. It’s more than enough that Rachel smells so good, but now for whatever reason, Quinn is captivated by her hair, too?   
  
There’s a band somewhere that’s playing patriotic songs now, and Quinn is grateful for it, if only for the reason that she can no longer hear her heart hammering in her ears. It’s dark enough, and the fireworks should start anytime, and— there.   
  
A burst of color explodes in the sky, and this is what Quinn has been looking forward to all day. The color, the sound, the band, the food, Rachel. Everything is perfect, and Quinn allows herself to sigh in contentment.   
  
When the fireworks begin, Rachel quickly realizes that she needs to lean back more to actually watch them, so her hand ends up on the blanket between Quinn and Quinn’s bracing arm as she holds herself up. They don’t actually start out touching, but after the first minute or so, she’s leaning a little against Quinn’s shoulder, if only for balance.   
  
Also, there’s just something invigorating about being this close to Quinn. They might only be friends, but that doesn’t stop Rachel’s heart from beating with a little more fervor when they’re this close. It’s possible that it’s just the sound and excitement of the explosions in the sky above them, but Rachel doubts it.  
  
Which is why she considers that maybe she should move. But Quinn hasn’t said anything, yet. So she decides to stay, for now.  
  
The second she feels Rachel leaning against her shoulder, her eyes slip shut. There’s no point in denying anymore, she likes cuddling with Rachel Berry. She enjoys feeling Rachel leaning against her; she likes it when Rachel is frightened and buries her face in Quinn’s shirt. There’s no point in denying it anymore, because Rachel obviously likes it too. So she leans further in and rests her cheek against Rachel’s head so they can watch the fireworks together as comfortably as possible.   
  
What’s funny is that Rachel keeps reminding herself not to expect much in return from Quinn, and then Quinn keeps doing things like this. Still, she doesn’t want to fixate on it, because they’re just supposed to be watching the fireworks show.  
  
“Which ones are your favorite?” she asks. “I like the ones that are like shooting stars… obviously. But I’m also partial to the—” One of the fireworks bursts and each individual flare zooms around like a firefly. “That kind, right there.”  
  
Quinn hums softly against Rachel’s head. “I like the spirals,” she finally says, “the white ones.” She waits, and the next few are pretty, but they’re not the right kind. After the fourth one, she forgets to look, since she’s finally actually running her fingers through the silky strands of Rachel’s hair. It’s completely dark now, and they have the soft glow from the lantern and the light from the fireworks bursting above them, but other than that, it’s just them.   
  
She couldn’t say what has come over her; she just knows that she likes how she’s feeling in this moment. It’s perfect.   
  
Rachel practically has to force her eyes to stay open. The way Quinn’s touching her hair makes her want to curl up and rest her head on Quinn’s shoulder, but that’s not why they’re here.  
  
One of the aforementioned white spirals launches up into the air. “There’s one!” She’s pleased with herself for no real reason, at all, and she glances at Quinn for confirmation, only to notice that her company’s eyes aren’t really on the sky. “You missed it,” she says, softly.   
  
There’s suddenly nothing else in the world but those big brown eyes and the way they’re focused on Quinn. She can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t bring herself to look away. The only thing she can manage is a barely-whispered, “Rach.”   
  
“What?” Rachel whispers back, unsure if she should be looking at Quinn’s eyes or her mouth or somewhere else, entirely. They’re so close and it’s comfortable, but at the same time she feels charged with some kind of electricity, the same kind she felt when she held Quinn’s hand at Artspace or during their movie night. Only this feels different. Not bad, just… like more.   
  
“I don’t—” _know_ is the word that should fit there, but it’s too late. She’s already moving, slowly, closer to Rachel. Her fingers are still in Rachel’s hair, and she doesn’t know whether to focus on that or the fact that Rachel’s eyes are closing or that she’s so close she can feel Rachel’s breath on her lips. Her tongue darts out and wets them, and then there’s just no more room between them.   
  
The gap closes, and just like that, she’s kissing Rachel Berry.   
  
Over the last couple of weeks, there have been multiple moments where Rachel imagined what this might be like. None of them live up to the actual feeling of Quinn’s lips on hers, with the sound of the fireworks cracking overhead and the warm summer breeze moving around them. She returns the pressure of the kiss, one hand blindly reaching up until her fingers find Quinn’s cheek.  
  
This is not how Rachel thought she’d be spending her Fourth of July, but she definitely can’t complain about the current outcome.  
  
Quinn has kissed a lot of people for a lot of reasons. But it’s never been like this. Her breath is coming in shallow bursts, Rachel’s hand is on her cheek, thumb drawing light circles over the skin there. She tilts her head just a little further and kisses Rachel just a little more deeply, trying to feel everything all at once.   
  
She’s hyper aware of everything right now. The fireworks, the music, the taste of hummus on Rachel’s lips. She feels positively dizzy.   
  
Rachel’s not sure if it’s a guy versus girl kind of thing, but Quinn is easily the best kisser she’s ever experienced. She feels as if she could do this for an extended period of time, but the sound of a baby crying out at one of the louder fireworks kind of snaps her back to reality. As much as she would be happy to make out with Quinn in the middle of the park, maybe it’s not the best venue.  
  
But there’s also the fact that Quinn’s so very good at this and that Rachel’s been imagining it for weeks. Somehow, though, she manages to pull away. There aren’t any immediate words on hand for her to use as a reply, so she keeps her eyes shut and rests her head against Quinn’s shoulder.  
  
Quinn isn’t sure what to say. She’s still trying to catch her breath, for one. But she really never anticipated kissing Rachel tonight. She toys with a lock of Rachel’s hair, and tries to process the weight of Rachel’s head on her shoulder and the feel of Rachel’s lips moving against hers.   
  
She kissed Rachel.   
  
Oh god. She *kissed* Rachel.   
  
And she wants to do it again.  
  
 _Shit._  
  
Rachel has no idea what this means or if it even has any meaning, at all. Quinn’s admitted to the fact that she enjoys kissing people without it serving any emotional purpose. She can’t think of anything she has that Quinn could just ask her for, so it’s not likely that this is some kind of manipulation. Maybe it’s a freebie, something Quinn knows Rachel wants and is willing to give her, because she’s in a good mood from the holiday.  
  
It’s only been four seconds since the kiss and she’s already analyzing it. She forces herself to stop and opens her eyes, so she can see the sky. “You’re missing your fireworks,” is the quiet reminder she offers. Rachel tries not to notice how well they fit together, because she isn’t sure how long she’ll be staying right where she is.  
  
Rachel’s voice snaps Quinn part way out of the haze she’s in. She almost feels like she’s underwater— everything is so sluggish and slow. Even the fireworks bursting in the night sky seem to be on some kind of delay. She’s thinking about breathing, and how good Rachel smells, and how she just can’t want to kiss Rachel like this again. She shouldn’t.   
  
Rachel has feelings, real feelings, and Quinn feels like she’s exploiting them. For now, she tightens her grip around Rachel’s waist and stares up at the sky. The fireworks have never been more beautiful to her, and they’ve never seemed like they’re bursting apart within her own chest until now.   
  
The way Quinn’s holding on to her makes Rachel sigh, because now they’re even more connected, more securely together in the moment, and she definitely doesn’t want to move. But it’s also a slightly awkward position, because this wasn’t their original intent (obviously) and she needs to move her legs to compensate.  
  
And that’s how she manages to knock over her bottle of organic soda, which quickly flows toward her as it seeps into the blanket. “Oh no!” It’s not too much of a mess, but it’s all over her leg and her skirt is definitely wet. She sits upright to try and wipe it away with the napkins she know she saw when Quinn unpacked the basket, but it’s dark, so she has to grope around a little. “I’m sorry,” she says, looking back at Quinn. She doesn’t want to ruin things, just because she’s flustered over a single kiss.  
  
A really amazing, practically perfect kiss.  
  
“It’s okay, Rach,” Quinn murmurs, and she helps Rachel shift so she can sop up the spilled soda. “Did you get it all?”   
  
She’s still tingly and dizzy and all-around feeling kind of floaty and light, so it doesn’t really affect her, what Rachel’s doing. She just thinks it’s very Rachel and oddly endearing.   
  
God, what is going *on* with her?   
  
“I think so.” Rachel isn’t sure what to do with the soggy napkins, so she ultimately decides to place them on the grass. “I hope I didn’t ruin your blanket.” Her hands feel sticky, so she rubs at them with another napkin. She feels ridiculous and clumsy and she can tell Quinn’s watching her.  
  
“Hey,” Quinn says softly, stilling Rachel’s hands with her own. “I have—” She fishes in the picnic basket and comes up a minute later with a small white square. “Here. This should take care of it.” She tears open the packet and takes Rachel’s hands in her own to clean them, first one and then the other. “There.”   
  
It doesn’t dawn on her until just now that what she’s done is horribly misleading and— and _what?_ Washing Rachel’s hands for her in the middle of the park? God. What next? Her face is burning, and she bites her lip, eyes searching for the best route to the car through the couples and families dotting the grass. She wants to get up, to run as fast and as far as she possibly can. She needs to get away from this— whatever she’s feeling. But she can’t just leave Rachel here. She’ll think she’s done something wrong, when in reality it’s Quinn who is the failure here.   
  
She doesn’t look at Rachel when she folds up the towelette and packet and drops them in the picnic basket. After that, it’s all too easy to focus on the fireworks. They’re still beautiful, but now they carry a feeling of panic with them, and every time one bursts, Quinn feels her chest convulse.   
  
Rachel can feel Quinn withdrawing from her. It’s in the way she’s not looking at her and the way she’s paying attention to the direction of the parking lot. The kiss is entirely new territory, but Quinn suddenly shifting moods definitely isn’t.  
  
A week ago, she would have just taken Quinn by the hand and given it a squeeze, but she doesn’t even know if she should comfort her or put a little distance between them. She has no idea what’s too much or where their boundaries are supposed to be.  
  
Rachel likes Quinn and the more she thinks about it, the deeper she realizes her feelings really run. This kiss felt like something that had meaning behind it, but she has no way to tell if there’s supposed to be anything more behind it.  
  
“It… doesn’t have to be anything…” she begins to say. Except she wants it to be something. She wants that more than almost anything.  
  
Almost.  
  
Keeping Quinn as a friend is what ranks higher, right now.  
  
This is what suffocating feels like. They’re in the open air, and still it feels like some kind of tomb. The way that Rachel’s looking at her— like she wants the entire world. Like Quinn is capable of giving it to her. And Quinn is just utterly helpless and she can feel it on her own face.   
  
She pulls back, so they’re no longer touching. “I can’t—” she starts to say and then has no idea how to follow it up. Can’t what? She knows, deep down, that this is far more complicated than any one answer. Can’t lead Rachel on. Can’t let her down. Can’t let herself need another person like this.   
  
Can’t let herself feel something that is going to eventually get thrown in her face when Rachel leaves at the end of the summer.   
  
She shrugs, still helpless. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have,” she says, whisper-quiet. It’s clear that she is incapable of giving Rachel what she needs— what she deserves. For now, she’d be content to forget about her getaway route and just be able to enjoy the rest of the show. The finale must be soon, and she wishes she could go back. Go back and stop herself from kissing Rachel, go back and find a way to keep things simple between the two of them. She can make things simple again, but she has a feeling that they won’t ever really be the same between them again.   
  
With one kiss, she’s lost one of the few friends she has.   
  
“No, don’t… you don’t have to apologize.” Rachel doesn’t want Quinn to take it back or act like it never happened. She can deal with moving past it, but she can’t ignore it.   
  
The way Quinn is reacting to this makes her wonder if this is different than when Quinn made out with Mack or Brittany or Santana. She can’t imagine Quinn would keep doing it if she were as tortured about it every time the way she seems to be about this.  
  
Now that they have some space between them, Rachel isn’t sure how to sit, especially because her part of the blanket is still wet.  
  
“I’m— okay,” Quinn says, and she knows that she’s ruining this evening. She’s ruining everything, and it’s happening in slow motion like some kind of accident that she can’t do anything to stop. She feels like never talking to another person again for the rest of her life, but the way Rachel shifts away from her, the look on her face, makes Quinn want to explain. “It’s just… you have these feelings, and I feel like I’ve somehow— I don’t know. I like being your friend,” she finishes in that same helpless tone. There’s really nothing she can say, and she feels the familiar swell of self-loathing bubbling up inside of her.   
  
She knows that she can control the tears until she gets home, so that’s something anyway.   
  
As Quinn continues her attempt to explain herself, Rachel feels less like a schoolgirl with a crush and more like usual herself.  
  
“You kissed me under the fireworks on the Fourth of July. I, more than most people, understand what it’s like to get caught up in a dramatic moment. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened between us. And frankly, I much prefer a kiss to a slap.”  
  
This doesn’t begin to cover what Rachel’s actual emotional state is in regard to any of this, but if she can at least get Quinn to dial down her level of self-beratement over this, she’ll feel better.  
  
Rachel’s tone and demeanor are exactly what Quinn need in this moment to regain some control of the situation. She feels her mask slide back into place and begins to breathe more easily. It’s comfortable. And familiar. And with it on, she can handle anything, even the implications that come with how much she apparently enjoys kissing Rachel Berry.   
  
“Good,” she says coolly, and turns her attention fully back to the finale happening in the sky above them. She won’t give Rachel the satisfaction of melting down in front of her. If Rachel wants to believe that this is just some dramatic moment that they’ve been caught up in, that’s more than fine with her.   
  
Inwardly, she’s angry. Angry at the world, angry at Rachel, angry at herself. And, right now, even with the memory of Rachel’s mouth pressed against hers, she wishes that she _had_ slapped her. It would have carried with it the same amount of self-loathing and none of the confusion.   
  
Rachel immediately recognizes the attitude Quinn’s taken on. It’s not her favorite, but it’s familiar and at least now she feels comfortable pulling her knees toward her chest and sitting with her arms wrapped around her legs as she watches the remainder of the explosions in the sky.  
  
Now, she can recognize the fact that she’s more than a little heartbroken over the fact that Quinn obviously doesn’t have any intention of ever kissing her, again. She doesn’t plan to show it now, but when she gets home, there’s a very specific playlist waiting for her.  
  
They watch the rest of the fireworks in silence and when they’re finished, Quinn packs up the picnic basket without so much as looking at Rachel. She honestly doesn’t know what she was thinking, putting all of this together in the first place. It was a stupid idea. She stands, and the urge to reach out a hand and help Rachel up is overwhelming, but she bites it down and just waits until Rachel pushes herself off of her knees and stands up on her own before she pulls at the blanket and folds it up. She hands it wordlessly to Rachel and hauls up the picnic basket.   
  
Once they get to the car, she stows everything in the trunk and when she snaps out the electric lantern, it’s with a finality that isn’t lost on her. This time, she doesn’t open Rachel’s door.   
  
As soon as the door is unlocked, Rachel lets herself into the car and immediately fastens her seat belt. She would like to get home as quickly as possible and hopes the traffic around them doesn’t leave them deadlocked in the parking lot.  
  
There are plenty of questions running through her head, but none that would gain her any real information, not while Quinn’s eyes are that dull color they get when she’s shutting everything out. They may have only recently started being closer friends, but Rachel’s witnessed Quinn’s mood swings for years.  
  
“Would you mind if I turned up the radio?” she asks, once the car’s started. Sitting in silence would probably drive her mad, even if it is less than a ten minute ride home.  
  
“Go ahead,” Quinn says dully, and backs out of the parking space immediately. The sooner she can get Rachel home, the sooner she can be by herself.   
  
The traffic isn’t too bad so far, since they were up and to the car practically before the last firework died out. The tires crunch through the parking lot, and she drums her fingers on the steering wheel. She hasn’t really looked at Rachel since they were sitting on the blanket, and she’s not going to give in now. She’s stronger than that.   
  
The song on the radio is Katy Perry’s Firework, which is generally an anthem for Rachel, but in this moment it feels too loud and too long. She doesn’t bother turning it down, she just tunes it out as she watches the passing streetlights through the window.  
  
The ride to the park felt vibrant and exciting. The ride home is awkwardly silent, even with the too-loud music filling the space between them.  
  
Quinn doesn’t hear the music. She just knows that she can’t get to Rachel’s house fast enough, but when she finally pulls up outside of Rachel’s house, she’s not sure exactly what to do. They haven’t spoken much since the kiss, and Quinn feels awful for how she’s treated Rachel. It just seems far too awkward to try and say anything now. And anyway, what is she going to say? Have a nice evening? Try not to hold it over me that I can’t even kiss someone anymore without turning into some lovesick schoolgirl? I hope we can still be friends?   
  
She settles for halfway catching Rachel’s eye and giving a halfhearted shrug. She mumbles, “Thanks for coming,” but it’s so low she’d be surprised if Rachel heard it.   
  
God, she just wants this night to be over.   
  
Rachel nods in response and fumbles for the door handle. She’s been holding her own through all of this, but now that she’s home, there are tears close to welling up and she doesn’t want to cry in front of Quinn.  
  
“Thank you for a lovely evening,” she fumbles, before exiting the vehicle. Halfway up the front walk, she remembers her RENT lunch bag is still in the picnic basket, but she doesn’t care. She can get it later. Or, she hopes she can.  
  
Quinn sits until Rachel takes herself up the walk, arms wrapped around her middle, and disappears into a dark house. She doesn’t know why she’s disappointed that Rachel doesn’t look back before closing the door, but she is. She wouldn’t have looked back either if it were her. She manages to pull away from the curb and get halfway down Rachel’s street before the tears come.   
  
And they don’t stop, even long after she’s in her own home, in her own bed, lying in the dark.

Happy Fourth of July.


	11. The Witching Conversation Hour

It’s after four in the morning and Rachel can’t sleep. Twenty minutes ago, she was dreaming about New York, but that dissolved into a nightmare about a haunted hotel in Central Park, which is the direct result of falling asleep while reading The Shining.  
  
She feels too old to be as scared as she is, but now her bedside lamp is turned on and she’s been trying to occupy her mind with YouTube videos and Facebook, but she really can’t shake the feeling that a ghost is going to make its presence known. The fact that she’s borderline psychic about some things doesn’t make her feel any better about it.  
  
When she agreed to read _The Shining_ , she gave Quinn fair warning that she would call her if a time like this arose, but they haven’t really spoken since the night of the fireworks. But, really, she’s spooked enough not to care and decides to pull up Quinn’s number on her contact list.   
  
Hopefully, Quinn will answer.  
  
Rachel wonders if there’s a chance she’s waking Quinn up. For most people, yes, this would be an ideal sleeping time, but she imagines Quinn to be some kind of night owl, maybe because she enjoys horror so much.  
  
Somewhere, in her dazed brain, her iPhone is chiming at her. She slaps her hand at her nightstand and looks blearily at the clock before sliding her finger across the screen.   
  
“Jesus Christ, Rachel, it’s four thirty in the morning. I just went to bed twenty minutes ago,” she mumbles instead of saying hello. She throws an arm across her eyes but not before the thought flashes through her brain that something has happened. Why else would Rachel be calling her so late? She sits bolt upright, now wide awake. “Are you okay? What happened?”  
  
“I…” Rachel’s glad to hear a voice on the other end of the line, but the reality of the fact that she’s calling Quinn at some ridiculous hour for no real reason suddenly hits her and she feels foolish. “It’s silly. I shouldn’t have called.” Only, she has called and she definitely isn’t ready for Quinn to hang up, yet. “I was scared,” she admits. “Actually, I still am kind of freaked out. From… reading that book.” She’s tired and even though she’s the one who’s more awake in this situation, she’s not fully coherent.  
  
It takes a minute for Quinn to process Rachel’s words. She wants to laugh, but Rachel actually does sound incredibly frightened. She relaxes immediately, sinking back into her bed.  
  
“Hey,” she says in the softest voice she can, “hey, Rach, it’s okay. You’re fine. It’s just a story.” She chews her lip and then says, “What do you need?” It sounds lame, but it’s the best she can do.   
  
“Just… to talk for a little while, if that’s okay.” Rachel doesn’t want Quinn to feel like she’s pressuring her to talk about the kiss, so she adds, “It can be about anything, I just need to shake this feeling.”  
  
“Of course it’s okay, Rach,” Quinn says. “You know, we don’t have to read it. If it’s too scary.” Quinn has read it before, for god’s sake. If it’s too much, she’s happy to just put it aside and find something else to do.   
  
“No… I want to read it.” Rachel doesn’t like the idea that she’s too scared to do anything, especially when it comes to reading a simple book. “I’m invested now. If I don’t finish, the lack of closure will continue to haunt me.”  
  
“Oh my god, you’re so crazily committed to everything you do,” Quinn laughs. For the first time in days, it doesn’t feel incredibly awkward between them, and she realizes that she’s happy that Rachel called. She stifles a yawn. “It’s so late. Have you been reading all this time?”   
  
Rachel doesn’t appreciate being called crazy, but she lets it slide because it’s the middle of the night and she’s just happy to have Quinn on the other end of the line. “No, I fell asleep while I was reading, had an intensely horrifying dream, and woke up a little while ago.” She turns on her side and tightens the sheet over her shoulder. “I’m glad you answered, because I really didn’t want to be alone.”  
  
“You’re not,” Quinn says simply, and then things feel awkward again because she’s not sure if that was the right thing to say or not. The past few days have been filled with reminders of how a lady is supposed to act and what is expected of a Fabray, and she’s driven herself nearly crazy analyzing and re-analyzing the Fourth of July. How she felt. How Rachel looked. The fireworks, the food, the fresh night air. God, how she *felt.*  
  
She plucks at her shirt and waits for Rachel to say something— anything.   
  
The second there’s silence between them, it’s a struggle to find something to break it, but Rachel makes the effort. “You’ve… been busy the last couple days?” It’s a question that feels like an accusation. “Or… it seems like you have, because you haven’t been online very much. Have you done anything new?” She’s not sure if she wants to know what new things Quinn may have taken up, but as long as the conversation continues, she supposes it’s worth it.  
  
“Rachel,” Quinn says, in a low voice. She hopes it doesn’t sound half as regretful - or sad - as she actually feels. She never intended to make someone as confident as Rachel Berry sound so insecure, but she has and it’s done. She breathes deeply, through her nose. “I haven’t done anything new. I’ve mostly been sitting by the pool— thinking. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”   
  
She’s not really sure that she wants Rachel to hear her talking about what happened between them just yet, but she also knows that Rachel is a smart girl and will probably have no difficulty at all in connecting the dots. That’s fine. It’s probably the decent thing to do, she figures, not pretending like nothing happened between them. What she’s not ready for is discussing how she feels about it. It’s not something she herself understands, so how could she possibly hope to discuss it with Rachel?   
  
“Me too,” Rachel replies. “The thinking, not the pool.” She wants to know what Quinn’s feelings are about the kiss, but she also knows that digging around will only put Quinn on the defensive and then getting any kind of information, let alone validation, will be nearly impossible. “And I finally got my new laptop for school.” Rerouting the conversation usually helps keep Quinn from shutting down. Anyway, she’s excited about the new purchase, so it’s nice to share the sentiment with someone.  
  
Quinn gets it— Rachel is giving her space, an out. And she’s grateful. “Really? What kind of laptop?” She knows that Rachel has been thinking about getting a new laptop for a while, and if she approached it anything like she approached getting a new set of sheets, well, Quinn is amazed that she actually settled on one to buy.   
  
Quinn stretches her arms above her head, arches her back, and makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a squeak.   
  
“MacBook Air. Dad really wanted to go to the Apple store the other night and that had been the top tier computer on my list, so…” Rachel’s aware that not everyone approaches things the way she does, that they don’t make lists and charts before making decisions. “I’m quite happy with it. And what are you even doing, right now?” she asks, in response to the sound she’s hearing through the phone.  
  
“Hmm? Oh, I’m just… stretching,” Quinn says. “It’s late. I’m glad you like your laptop though. I know it must have been a big decision for you.” She stretches again and curls in on herself, pinning the phone between her cheek and the pillow and tucking her arms around herself. “Are you… feeling any better?” she asks softly.   
  
“I’ve known for a while that I wanted to get a new one before the fall, so it wasn’t any kind of hasty decision.” Rachel considers what Quinn possibly means when she asks if she’s feeling better. “I’m fine.” She wants to expand on just how many distractions she had to offer herself to stop thinking about that kiss, but she doesn’t. “How about you?”  
  
Quinn snorts and rolls her eyes. “I’m not the one having the nightmares, Rach,” she says and burrows into her pillow just a little bit further.   
  
“Right.” The nightmares. Being scared. The entire reason she’s called Quinn at some god awful hour of the night. Rachel’s a little embarrassed, but there’s really no reason to be. “Hey, I never told you what tattoo I wanted, did I?” She isn’t really planning to tell anyone before she gets it, but Quinn isn’t just anyone, especially considering she’s somewhat indirectly responsible for what Rachel’s chosen.  
  
“No.” There’s a peacefulness Quinn feels right now that she can’t explain. She doesn’t feel tired in the slightest. She actually feels energetic. And suddenly interested in what Rachel is about to say. “What is it?”  
  
“Well,” Rachel sits up a little, because it’s difficult to speak clearly while lying down. “I think I already mentioned I want it on my wrist. And I’ve settled on the left one, because I like it aesthetically, I suppose.” She pauses because the realization that, while she should care what anyone else has to say about something she wants for herself, Quinn’s opinion means a lot to her. “I haven’t settled on a font, yet. But I want ‘Get It Right’ because it’s something original I was a part of and it will also serve as a daily affirmation. So… personal meaning and functionality…” She’s almost afraid to stop talking, but she has to if she wants to hear Quinn’s response.  
  
Quinn feels her breath catch— it’s not at all what she expected Rachel to say. “I really—” she has no idea. What? She really what? “I think it’s perfect, Rach,” she ends up saying, and then there’s silence again, but this time it’s not awkward in the slightest. It feels very comfortable. To Quinn, at least.   
  
Rachel feels warm and almost giddy when Quinn not only approves. “It’s my favorite. Not just of the ones we took to competition, but— well, all of them have meaning to me, but that one is… that one is especially personal.” She’s tired and her voice is a little scratchy, because she’s been denied valuable sleep by her own overactive imagination. “Hey, Quinn?”  
  
“Hmmm?” Quinn hums in response, trying to take in all of Rachel’s confession about the song— their song. She can’t be sure if it’s just because she’s been up for so long or if Rachel’s voice low in her ear is contributing, but she feels kind of slow in absorbing Rachel’s words. She’s still toying with her shirt, as she waits for whatever it is Rachel has to say to her.   
  
“You’ll still go with me, right?” Rachel knows she’s asked this question more than once, but things have happened and it’s late (or ridiculously early) and she just needs to know. And there’s this warmth that spreads through her chest whenever Quinn makes plans to spend time with her. She knows it’s probably not entirely healthy to get so much of a thrill out of it if Quinn’s not really interested in her, but she’s not kicking herself over it, right now. Maybe in the morning (the later morning) she will, but not now.  
  
“Yeah, sure, I’ll still go with you,” Quinn says, and this time she can’t help her yawn. The energy from before is wearing off and she hopes it doesn’t show. “Moral support,” she mumbles. She tries to visualize what Rachel will look like with a tattoo on her wrist, and she smiles.   
  
“You’re good at that,” Rachel muses. The sky outside is getting lighter, and even though sunrise won’t be happening for a while the idea that it’s impending suddenly makes it that much more difficult to keep her eyes open. “Like when I wanted your nose.” It sounds absolutely insane, even in her tired state, especially when she recalls the mock ups she not only made, but passed out to everyone in glee club. “I can’t believe I did that… with the photoshop. I really don’t understand why people talk to me, sometimes.” She knows she’s a star, that she’s talented, that she’ll go places. She also knows she’s unusual.  
  
“Hey, people want things sometimes. It’s okay to want to change things about yourself. I mean, this isn’t really my nose, either. I took it from somebody else. How big of a hypocrite would I have been if I hadn’t tried to support you in the same decision when everyone else was jumping down your throat about it?”   
  
She remembers that day like it was yesterday. Going with Rachel to the surgeon. Handing over photographs of her own face. The duet.   
  
A warmth that she doesn’t understand or expect flushes through her and she closes her eyes against it. The only thought in her head now is how much she wishes she could hold Rachel through times like this and make her understand that everything is fine. That she’s going to be okay.   
  
Rachel attempts to fight off a yawn, but she’s so tired and now that she’s calmed down and relaxed, it’s getting more difficult to stay awake. “I like your nose, but it’s not my favorite part of your face.”  
  
She’s obviously sleepy and not thinking clearly about what she’s saying, and it’s amusing Quinn to no end. “Hmm?” Quinn says, and bites her lip to keep from laughing.   
  
“Mmmhmm.” Rachel settles her head into her pillow and sighs before she continues. “Your eyes tell me a lot, even when you’re trying to say something else. And they change color when you’re mad.”  
  
“You’re— my eyes change color?” No one has ever told her that before. She’s struck by two thoughts at the same time: one, she’s given Rachel plenty of opportunity to observe what her eyes do when she’s angry, and two, usually people run and hide when Quinn is angry, but not only is Rachel not intimidated; she actually looks deeper into Quinn’s eyes for some reason. The realization isn’t as off-putting as it could be. “So,” she says, still teasing, “My eyes are your favorite part of my face?”   
  
“No, your face is my favorite part of your face.” There’s another yawn and Rachel knows she won’t be awake for very much longer. “I think I can sleep now. Sorry I woke you up.”  
  
This time, Quinn does laugh, but it’s not from a place that thinks Rachel is ridiculous. It’s actually kind of sweet, and the way she’s yawning makes Quinn let her eyes drift shut one more time. “Okay, Rach. Sweet dreams,” she murmurs, and then holds the phone for just a second longer to make sure Rachel hangs up.


	12. The Seduction of Quinn Fabray: Part One – Pie and Outdoor Reading

Rachel checks the lounge chairs on the deck, for the third time. She just wants to make sure the cushions aren’t dusty and that they’re facing away from the sun, so it won’t be in their eyes while they’re trying to read. Her desire for the presentation to be just right definitely has something to do with the fact that it’s Quinn who’s coming over, but she’s also naturally concerned with perfection whenever she plays hostess.  
  
She’s not quite the culinary whiz Quinn seems to be, but there’s a pitcher of freshly brewed iced tea on the outdoor table. The pie is still in the kitchen, because she doesn’t want anything to happen to it before her guest arrives.  
  
For the occasion, she’s chosen a breezy yellow sundress and a coordinating headband, something simple and activity appropriate.  
  
While she waits for Quinn, she boots up her new laptop and plugs it into the living room stereo system and turns on the outdoor speakers. Ordinarily, she would have made a playlist, but she’s decided to work with Pandora to provide atmosphere for this reading session. She seeds a station with some classic instrumental jazz, for now. If Quinn doesn’t like it, they can change it later.  
  
Now, if only her company would arrive.  
  
Quinn rings the doorbell and fiddles with the strap of her bag while she waits. When Rachel pulls open the door, breathless and glowing in a bright yellow sundress, Quinn’s eyebrows raise without permission. Gorgeous is the word in her brain, but it’s not something she’s comfortable with thinking - not about Rachel, at least - not just yet. It only takes a second for her to recover, and she flashes Rachel her best smile and extends a bottle of sparkling cider. If there’s one thing Quinn Fabray is good at, it’s social etiquette. Rule number one, always bring something for the hostess.   
  
She peers into Rachel’s house casually before meeting her eyes again. “This is becoming a regular thing,” she says to break the ice. Sure, she’s been to Rachel’s house since they started this— this friendship, but it actually feels different this time. This time, she’s staying. She’ll be at Rachel’s house for the afternoon. God, the thought alone just— All she can think about is feeling trapped and saying something icy to Rachel before pushing past her and leaving her there in tears. Again. She sends up a silent prayer that her claustrophobia doesn’t ruin today for her. She’s actually been looking forward to this, ever since Rachel called her in the middle of the night, sounding like a drunk and asking Quinn to protect her. For some reason, she really likes the idea of being someone’s protector.   
  
“Our book club may have only two members, but we seem to be making it work rather well for us.” Rachel accepts the bottle of cider with a broad smile. “You didn’t have to bring anything, but I appreciate it.” Of course Quinn would have an appropriate sense of propriety when making an official visit. “I don’t know how this will pair with the pie, but I’ll chill it for now and perhaps we can have some later?”  
  
They’re still standing in the entry way, so she ushers Quinn past the living room and into the kitchen so she can place the bottle in the refrigerator. “Feel free to set your bag wherever you’d like. My dads are at work, so it’s just us.”  
  
Quinn sets her bag on the breakfast bar and watches as Rachel rummages in the refrigerator to make room. “Whatever you have planned is fine,” she says, leaning against the counter and folding her hands. “We don’t have to drink it today if it doesn’t fit in.” Quinn looks around and thinks, not for the first time, that the Berrys have a lovely home. “Have you read any more since you called or…”  
  
“No,” Rachel says as she shuts the fridge. Her jaw sets, because she’s a little angry that a book can be so creepy that she has to read it in the presence of someone else. “I know it’s just going to get worse. But I’m determined to get through it.” She leans against the counter with her hands folded in front of her, unsure what to do next. Perhaps it’s best to leave it up to her guest. “Did you want the eat now or later?”  
  
“Rach… we don’t have to read it, you know. If it’s too scary? We can just pick something else.” The last thing she wants to do is push Rachel to do something she’s uncomfortable with. “We can eat later, if that’s okay.” And then she adds as an afterthought, “What is this music?”  
  
Rachel’s arms cross over her chest. “We’re not picking something else. I’m going to finish it,” she says, squaring her shoulders to emphasize her resolve in this situation. The question about the music causes her to relax a little as she briefly listens. “Oh, it’s just some jazz. I thought it would add some atmosphere to the afternoon.”  
  
“You know, there aren’t going to be any purple hearts for finishing. I really don’t mind picking something else if it’s too much, but then I also understand the need to overcome, so… I won’t push again. Okay?” The way Rachel is looking at her makes her fidget a little and look down. She says, “Um, do you have any— could I have a glass of water, maybe?” just to buy herself some time. For what, she’s not sure.  
  
“Sure.” Rachel turns to retrieve a glass from the cupboard. As she does, she glances over her shoulder. “Refrigerated, iced, or room temperature?”  
  
Quinn laughs, in spite of her sudden nervousness. Leave it to Rachel to think of every possible scenario, even for something as simple as a glass of water. “Um, iced. Please.” While Rachel is getting her water, Quinn runs a single finger along the edge of the counter, which is a brilliant marble. “I’m not sure if I’ve told you, but your home is lovely,” she says. How is that she can feel so comfortable and yet so defensive in a single person’s presence?   
  
“Thank you. I’ll be sure to tell my home improvement obsessed fathers that you think so. I honestly think they do it just for the compliments.” Rachel’s positive that Quinn will have some kind of quip about how that trait must be genetic, so she adds, “I at least plan to make a career out of getting people to tell me how great I am.” Once it’s out of her mouth, though, it sounds both obnoxious and lame. “Here.” She hands the glass of water to Quinn and tries not to look at their hands when their fingers touch. It’s embarrassing how much she obviously still likes Quinn, even after the fallout from that night under the fireworks.  
  
It isn’t lost on Quinn that Rachel thinks her own joke is terrible, and it honestly makes her feel not so awkward for the smallest moment. She can’t help the smile that develops on her face. “I have no doubt you’ll be incredibly successful at that,” she offers, and takes a sip of water.   
  
The small charge Rachel felt from her brief physical contact with Quinn is nothing compared to what she feels now. “You really think so?” She smiles in return and she feels both light and warm, which is incredibly nice and she certainly doesn’t want it to stop. But she also doesn’t want to make a fool of herself.  
  
“Mhm,” Quinn hums, still sipping. She’s trying very hard to hold eye contact, but the air is so charged, and for some reason, all she can think of right now is how it felt to kiss Rachel on a blanket under the fireworks. She blinks to try and shake herself out of it. “So, are we…?” She can feel the blush in her cheeks, and she curses silently for giving herself away.   
  
“Are we…” Rachel repeats, as it takes a moment for everything to resume moving at regular speed. “Yes. We are… reading. Out on the deck. If that’s all right with you. I’m hoping the warm air and the music will take the chill out of the story.” She’s joking. Mostly. Part of her isn’t quite convinced that she won’t end up trying to climb into Quinn’s lounge chair with her.  
  
“Of course it’s all right with me. This is your party,” Quinn says, shouldering her bag. “We can do whatever you want to do.” It dawns on her a second too late that it’s not the most sensitive thing she’s ever said, but then again, she’s not entirely sure that she would be opposed to whatever Rachel wants to do. She glances at Rachel’s lips one more time before turning hastily for the door that she guesses leads out back. “Is it through here?” The sooner she gets outside, the better, though she can’t say why.   
  
Rachel’s “Yes” is irrelevant as Quinn’s already halfway out the door before it even leaves her mouth. Her copy of The Shining sits next to the pitcher of iced tea and her sunglasses. It’s overcast, at the moment, so she probably won’t need them, but she wants to be prepared. She waits for Quinn to choose a chair, then picks up her book and occupies the vacant seat. “I know it’s not the same as sitting out by the pool, but I like it out here.”  
  
“I like it, Rach. It’s nice,” Quinn says and settles herself. Bag beneath her chair, glass of water next to the tea on the table. “I didn’t realize you had drinks out here. Sorry.” She fishes out her copy of the Shining and leans back. She’s read it before, several times, and at this point, she’s got pages dogeared and notes scribbled in the margins. This is nice, indeed.   
  
“We do have more glasses if you want more than one drink,” Rachel comments as she opens her book. She likes that she’s comfortable enough to be a little bit of a smart ass with Quinn, though supposes she kind of always has felt free to speak her mind around her. Now, though, there’s no risk of taking a slushy to the face as a result. Odd. She hasn’t associated her now-friend with the icy ritual for a long time and it almost feels like they don’t belong together, anymore. They don’t really. Not now.  
  
“Shh, I’m trying to read,” Quinn says, smirking. Rachel is definitely going to get as good as she gives, if Quinn has anything to say about it. If you want more than one drink. God. Quinn feels her smirk morph into an outright smile, and she bites her lip to hold it in check. “If you get scared over there, I have my phone right here.”   
  
Rachel glares at Quinn over the top of her book, but she’s fighting her own smile. “I’m not talking to you.” She’s aware they both know it’s an empty threat for a few reasons, one being because she can’t really keep her mouth shut and the other being that she’s bound to get freaked out in a matter of minutes which is why Quinn is present in the first place. For now, however, she settles back into the chair and focuses on the pages in front of her.  
  
Quinn hums her disagreement in a “we’ll see” tone, and thumbs to the last page she read. She sneaks a glance at Rachel, whose brow is furrowed in concentration, and she busies herself again with her own book. A blush creeps up on her once again as she thinks of Rachel glaring at her over her copy of the Shining. She enjoyed that far too much, she thinks, and it’s now making it hard for her to concentrate. She reads the same sentence over three times and then reaches blindly for her glass of water. When did it get so hot outside? God, this is ridiculous. She ought to be able to read a book, for god’s sake.   
  
She rolls her eyes at herself and allows the story to catch her on the fourth read-through. After that, the world falls away, and it’s just Quinn and a creepy hotel in Colorado.   
  
Rachel’s fine, for the time being, as the current chapter has no ghosts or occurrences of Danny’s REDRUM visions. What is bothering her, however, is her headband. She keeps the book open with one hand and removes the hair accessory with the other. The headband clatters against the table when she sets it down and she looks up to see if she’s broken Quinn’s concentration. It doesn’t appear that she has, so Rachel returns to her own book, running her free hand through her hair to loosen it up where it had been held back.  
  
The next time Quinn looks up, Rachel’s hair is down around her shoulders, and it looks… really soft. Like, incredibly soft. She remembers how it felt that first night during Carrie, with Rachel’s head against her cheek and she forgets to read for a minute. She closes her eyes against the image and tries with everything she has not to think about the kiss, but it’s the next logical step, and she just… she can’t help it. Rachel’s hair was soft that night, too. She forces herself back into the story, and she doesn’t even realize that she’s gripping her book like she’s afraid it’s going to fly away.   
  
Even though it isn’t sunny, it’s still warm out and Rachel’s thirsty, so she pauses her reading to pour herself a glass of iced tea. As she does, she notices Quinn’s white knuckled grip and she’s about to ask if everything is all right, but she’s interrupted by a deep male voice over the outdoor speakers.  
  
 _“_ _ _I’ve heard people say that too much of anything is not good for you, baby.”__  
  
Somehow, Pandora has decided that classic jazz translates to Barry White. Rachel’s frozen with the pitcher in hand, poised to pour as __Can’t Get Enough Of Your Love__ plays while Quinn Fabray sits three feet away from her.  
  
Quinn is still trying to force herself to read, but then she’s aware of Rachel leaning up and stuck in place. She’s confused, looks from Rachel’s face to the pitcher in her hand, and her brow creases. Why is Rachel just sitting— and then it registers. “Oh.” It’s another few lines in the song before she realizes that she said it out loud.   
  
The look on Rachel’s face is one of panic, like she can’t decide whether she wants to just sit and ride the song out or run inside and rip the jack out of the stereo. And, just like that, Quinn is enjoying this moment immensely. She waits until she hears the first _“_ _ _I scream your name, do what you gotta do”__ and then crosses her legs and smirks. “Everything okay, Rach?” she asks in the most innocent voice she can.   
  
This is absolutely mortifying. Rachel manages to set the pitcher down, then she rises up out of the chair. “I didn’t pick this… it was supposed to just be instrumental…” It’s not even that she cares about the music, it’s that she doesn’t want Quinn to think this was some bizarre attempt to seduce her because they’re finally back to normal and the last thing she needs is to come off like some kind of creeper who can’t take no for an answer. Someone like Jacob Ben Israel, for instance.  
  
The thought of being compared to him makes her shudder and she hurries for the door to the house so she can change the music, but as she grips the door knob, it doesn’t turn. Because it’s locked.  
  
Quinn watches as Rachel pulls frantically at the door handle. She doesn’t care about the song. It’s— whatever. Barry White’s music isn’t something she enjoys, as a rule, but she doesn’t really have anything against it either, despite that fact that it seems designed solely to play as a catalyst for making out. She finds this entire situation hilarious, and it’s because of Rachel’s need to have everything go perfectly according to plan. She knows that she’s not a nice person deep down, but she also knows that it’s not remotely because of this— it’s not as if her enjoyment right now is malicious. If anything, she finds it entirely endearing that Rachel Berry seems to be in full-on panic mode right now, and she intends to enjoy every single minute of it. The fact that the door appears to be locked is only adding to her amusement. So, she sits back, all too happy to watch these events unfold.   
  
“Problem?” she murmurs, and casually turns another page.   
  
There’s another attempt to will the door open, but it’s obviously unsuccessful. Fortunately, the song comes to a close. Unfortunately, it’s followed by Marvin Gaye singing Let’s Get It On. Rachel’s next move is fairly default. She sits down at the foot of Quinn’s lounge chair and pouts. “There is no way this is actually happening. Oh my god.”  
  
Two years ago, this might have driven her to tears. Today, it’s enough to make her blush, but she can handle it. She just can’t manage to look directly at Quinn, so she puts her hand over her face and mumbles, “I really hope my neighbors aren’t home.”  
  
“Hey. It’s not that bad, is it? I mean, it’s not like I haven’t heard Let’s Get It On before.” Quinn wants to scoot down and pull Rachel into a hug, but instead she just waits to see what Rachel will do. After all, it’s not like she’s actually upset. She’s just embarrassed. “Is there any way to get in through the front?”  
  
Rachel looks at Quinn through her fingers. “Maybe. And even if it isn’t, I think the window to the office is open. Quinn’s right, the song isn’t the worst. “I know I’m overreacting. I just wasn’t expecting this to turn into some kind of swinging seventies party…”  
  
Quinn sits up, Indian-style. “Well, just as long as you realize that you’re overreacting,” she says, resting her elbows on her knees. She’s curious to see if Rachel is going to throw herself over the railing to try and find a way inside. For now, she seems kind of defeated. “At the risk of making you hate me, I actually think it’s kind of funny.”  
  
Rachel wants to argue that it isn’t at all funny, that the afternoon is now an official disaster. But things really aren’t bad. Quinn appears amused, not offended.  
  
Instead of saying anything else, Rachel conjures up the glare she used earlier, but she doesn’t hold it for long because the humor of the situation is clear and as much as she doesn’t want to, she starts to giggle, which makes her statement of “It’s not funny” entirely unconvincing.  
  
Once Rachel starts to giggle, it’s over for Quinn, and she grins before softly singing, _“_ _ _Don’t you know how sweet and wonderful life can be? I’m asking you baby to get it on with me,”__ along with the music. She’s banking on it either making Rachel giggle harder or feel better about the situation. It’s a win-win, really.   
  
Rachel tries the glare again and pushes against one of Quinn’s shoulders, but she dissolves into laughter. “You’re the absolute worst.”  
  
Rachel’s laugh, it’s— it’s amazing. It’s one of the best sounds Quinn has ever heard in her life. It’s for this reason alone that Quinn catches hold of Rachel’s elbow and then pokes her in the side. She likes the closeness. She’s missed it, and all because she had to ruin things by kissing Rachel when she’s not even sure if— well. It doesn’t really matter. She did kiss her, and now she’s desperately trying to get them back to the status quo.   
  
“The worst, hmm? Are you insulting my character or my singing?”   
  
Being poked in the side makes Rachel double over and fall against Quinn, so she puts out her other hand to brace herself and it ends up on Quinn’s knee. “Character and sense of decorum. Your singing is fine. Actually, you capture the essence of Mr. Marvin Gaye rather well. Though, I think I prefer your James Brown.”   
  
Quinn’s instinct is to snake her arm around Rachel’s waist for balance, but once Rachel is steady, she doesn’t pull it away. “You remember that?” she asks. She’s close enough now that she remembers vividly exactly why she likes being so close to Rachel, and she fights to keep her eyes from drifting closed.   
  
Rachel is very aware that Quinn’s arm is now around her and her sense of self-preservation suggests she should move away. But she doesn’t listen to it, because she’s quite happy with the way she feels when they’re like this. And it doesn’t have to mean anything.  
  
“I was captain, of course I remember. I can recount all the performances of New Directions. But that one, in particular, was rather memorable in itself, because of the unique choreography.” She shifts, not to move away, but to look at Quinn. “I actually really admired you for putting together that performance. It was bold and unlike anything else we ever did, actually.”  
  
Quinn isn’t sure what to say. If she pulled her arm just so, Rachel would be in her lap. She can feel the blood in her cheeks, and she’s honestly not sure if it’s because Rachel seems to sincerely mean it or if it’s because of her proximity. Maybe a little of both. At any rate, the only thing she can think to say is, “Thank you.”   
  
Rachel’s thinking about the kiss. It’s not something that’s suddenly surfaced in her mind, it’s been there since it happened. She thinks about it a lot, actually. She doesn’t mean to, she doesn’t intend to reflect on the the events of that night, but she does. When she’s working out, when she’s looking over produce at the Farmer’s Market with her dad, when she’s in the car, when she’s out on the deck with Quinn.  
  
It isn’t the sole thought she’s having. She’s trying to focus on the musical number they’re discussing, but what else is there to say about it? “You’ve always been a well-rounded performer.” Okay, she could say something lame, like that.  
  
There isn’t much space between them, but it’s enough that Rachel fixates on it. She wants to close in, to be closer to Quinn. But she doesn’t want to undo everything they’ve just now put back together. This past week when she wasn’t sure what Quinn thought of her was absolutely awful.  
  
Which is why thinking about kissing Quinn Fabray is the last thing she should be doing, right now. But if Quinn isn’t interested in her, why do they keep ending up like this? Why are they so touch-feely? Even with Rachel’s somewhat limited experience in close friendships, she knows they haven’t been acting like platonic friends. If anything, the way they’ve been behaving around each other reminds her a lot of Brittany and Santana before they started actually dating.  
  
Maybe it’s the music, maybe it’s the summer heat, maybe it’s the fact that she can’t help but test the recently settled waters of their supposedly friends-only relationship, but Rachel can’t stop herself from leaning in and pressing her lips to Quinn’s. The pressure is light and for a second kiss it’s rather chaste, but the intent is clear.  
  
Or, she hopes it is.  
  
She’s not entirely surprised that Rachel is kissing her. If the way Rachel’s eyes kept flicking back and forth between her own eyes and lips wasn’t an indication, the way Rachel’s hand squeezed her knee before she leaned in certainly did the trick. Like Rachel wanted to somehow pull her closer but really couldn’t.  
  
No, what surprises her is that before she can even really decide if she wants to kiss back, Rachel is pulling away.   
  
It’s not enough.   
  
It’s not enough time to decide if the flutter she feels in her chest is something she’s felt before or if the absence of fireworks somehow makes a difference. It’s barely enough time to lean in to Rachel and let her eyes finally drift closed. All Quinn knows in this moment is that it’s just not enough.  
  
So without opening her eyes, the moment she feels Rachel pull away, she breathes the only word she’s capable of thinking, which is, “Rachel,” and she brings her free hand up to gently cup Rachel’s face. She stops Rachel’s retreat, pulls her forward, and kisses her again.  
  
There’s a soft sound that arises from Rachel’s throat, but even she isn’t sure if it’s in response to her name or the kiss. Either way, the fact that Quinn has offered up both reassures Rachel that she possibly hasn’t regressed them back to the weird limbo status of the previous week. Or maybe she has and there just isn’t any fallout, yet. She’s not even really thinking about anything in the moment, other than the fact that Quinn’s fingers are warm against her cheek and Quinn’s lip balm seems to have a vanilla quality to it and, oh yeah, they’re still kissing.  
  
The way that Rachel seems to melt into her is unbelievable. It feels so effortless when they’re like this, despite the fact that Quinn is leaning forward too far, and Rachel is half-twisted sideways at a somewhat awkward angle. When she hears Rachel respond, she moves her fingers gently against Rachel’s scalp and tilts her head just a little further. It’s effortless. Kissing Rachel is effortless, and it feels amazing. There’s not any point in denying that now.   
  
It’s when they stop kissing that Quinn’s mind always kicks into overdrive and she reacts… badly. The thought is nagging at her, but it’s far back in her mind, like a shadow, and for now she’s doing a fine job of ignoring it in favor of the feel of Rachel’s mouth moving softly against hers.   
  
Rachel shifts to turn a little more toward Quinn. The lounge chair isn’t ideal, but neither is the music (which has progressed on to what might be Phil Collins, but she doesn’t care enough about it to actually pay attention). The hand not on Quinn’s knee grips a handful of her shirt, somewhere below Quinn’s collarbone, because even though they’re as close as they are, it still isn’t enough for Rachel.  
  
The tip of her tongue lightly grazes Quinn’s bottom lip and she’s met with that sense of vanilla, again. She likes it. She likes everything about this moment. Even the ridiculous music that's feeding it.  
  
The second Quinn feels Rachel’s tongue brush her lip, she gasps against Rachel’s mouth. It’s unexpected and intimate and surprisingly good. She’s overwhelmed with the feeling of more, and that’s honestly something that’s never happened to her before, not even with Puck. Before she has time to analyze it, her fingers are tightening in Rachel’s hair and her own tongue is moving forward. When it meets resistance that is soft and wet and hot, she groans softly. She didn’t know it could feel like this.   
  
She pulls her tongue back, but the damage is done. She’s breathing heavily through her nose and trying desperately not to break down completely and just pull Rachel into her lap.   
  
The sound Quinn makes causes Rachel to release the shirt and slide her hand upward until her fingers lace into the hair at the base of Quinn’s neck. Her other hand is still on Quinn’s leg, though it’s inched forward. It’s really just for balance and leverage, but Rachel manages to remind herself that this is only their second kissing encounter, so she probably shouldn’t let her hand make any further progress.  
  
Kissing Quinn is… different than kissing anyone else. And it’s not just because she’s a girl and her previous make out partners were guys. That’s definitely part of it, but aside from the physical differences, it’s Rachel who feels something she didn’t experience before. While she doesn’t doubt that she loved Finn or Jesse, Quinn gives her this electric feeling that she can’t compare to anything else. It’s possible that it’s because this is something new, something different. But she doubts it.  
  
It’s more passion than Quinn thinks she’s ever felt about anything before, and she has no idea whether it coming from her or from Rachel. Maybe it’s just that it’s both of them, together. She’s dimly aware of the fact that her hand has moved from Rachel’s hair down her neck and is resting gently, her index finger rubbing barely-there circles just beneath Rachel’s chin. Since Rachel turned more fully, her other hand is on the small of Rachel’s back, and she puts that hand to work as well.   
  
Rachel is breathing through her nose, and Quinn feels the air puffing softly against her cheek. She can feel a gentle squeezing just above her knee, and she can’t help but extend her tongue once more, just slightly, just to… just to see. She trails it along Rachel’s lip, exactly like Rachel did to her a few moments earlier, and the flutter in her chest grows stronger. She actually feels giddy.   
  
So, yeah. This is really happening.   
  
This time it’s Rachel who groans and suddenly she wants to shove Quinn back and climb on top of her, but that would be taking things way too far, way too quickly. She needs to breathe for a second, to calm down before she does something unseemly out here on the deck. Not that she actually would, but the thoughts she’s having about Quinn are arguing otherwise.  
  
She tips her head just enough so her mouth doesn’t reach Quinn’s. One hand is still behind Quinn’s neck and the other moves from Quinn’s leg to her side, as if Rachel’s trying to hold her in place, to keep her from going anywhere. Actually, that’s exactly what she is doing.  
  
The pause in kissing allows her to draw in a steady breath and regain her bearings, at least a little bit.  
  
Quinn’s chest is downright heaving now, her eyes still closed. She tilts forward, rests her forehead against Rachel’s and swallows a few times, trying to catch her breath. She can’t speak. Even if she were physically able to, what would she even say right now? 'Get back here' springs to mind, but she’s not even capable of forming the thought, let alone making it come out of her mouth.   
  
She trails her fingers softly down the front of Rachel’s neck, and blinks a few times. Every inch of her feels like it’s on fire.   
  
“Rach,” she murmurs, and the thought flashes in her mind that it’s now the only word she knows. She finally pulls back, but she still can’t bring herself to look up, so she concentrates on her fingers dancing circles at the base of Rachel’s neck.   
  
She wants to run. Of course. It’s what she does. But then she feels Rachel’s fingers flex against her waist, and she wonders if Rachel is thinking the same thing. God, she can’t keep doing this. It isn’t fair to either of them. Still focused on her own hand, she whispers, “I don’t— know… what this means.”   
  
Rachel maintains her hold on Quinn. “It… means I really like kissing you.” That much is obvious. She’s certain the same applies for Quinn in regard to kissing her, but she doesn’t really expect Quinn to say so. It’s difficult to concentrate on much while Quinn’s fingers are still tracing patterns against her, so she reaches up with the hand that was on Quinn’s waist and stops her fingers from moving. “I know you’re… you said you aren’t…” Rachel doesn’t know how to say any of this without calling Quinn out on the fact that she seems to rank higher on the Kinsey scale than she cares to admit.  
  
Normally, someone stopping her from touching them might make Quinn panic more than she already is, but the way that Rachel did it sort of just leaves their fingers tangled together against Rachel’s neck. She remembers to breathe and, after a quick glance up to Rachel and back, she’s fine again. Well, as fine as she can be.   
  
She licks at her lips, which are still tingling with Rachel’s kisses, and tries to focus. “I’m…?” What is Rachel saying? God, why does it have to feel like everything has stopped? Her eyes flick back up to Rachel’s. Rachel looks as if she’s trying to figure how to give someone terrible news, and it dawns on Quinn what she means. “I’m… not gay.” There’s a beat and another look from Rachel, and Quinn stiffens. “I’m not,” she says firmly.   
  
Rachel keeps her fingers locked with Quinn’s, but drops their hands down to her lap. Now that they’ve stopped kissing and she’s had time for her heart rate to slow, she can concentrate on what she wants to say. “Quinn,” her voice is soft and steady, because she wants Quinn to actually listen to her, if that’s even possible. “I’m not asking for a statement or for you to make any kind of decision about yourself, okay?” She pulls her hand from behind Quinn’s neck and traces her fingers over Quinn’s cheek. “But I really like you. Which… is pretty obvious. And I can’t help but think you at least like kissing me, because it keeps happening.”  
  
“I know,” Quinn says quietly. “I know that you like me.” She chews her bottom lip while she tries to piece together what she wants to say. “At first it was just kind of an ego kick. But then I kissed you, and now I’ve kissed you again, and it just seems like I’m setting us both up for failure.” She looks past Rachel for a minute, out over the railing into the yard, but she doesn’t really see anything. It gives her the space she needs— for now, and she feels safe enough to toy with Rachel’s fingers in her lap for a second. She doesn’t know how long she takes to find her way out of the fog in her head, but Rachel just sits patiently and waits, which Quinn didn’t even think was possible, and a tiny affection blooms in her chest.   
  
“Rachel, I’m not— I like guys,” Quinn says, dropping her eyes once again, “but… I also like… kissing you.” There. She said it. Barely.   
  
There are tears coming from somewhere, in a rush, and she feels like they might all come out of her eyes at once. She has no idea what to do. She likes kissing Rachel Berry, and Rachel Berry has feelings for her. She’s going to end up hurting someone, and she just can’t anymore. She’s hurt so many people, and she can’t. It takes longer than she thinks it will for the tears to spill over.   
  
Rachel hates seeing Quinn cry. She hates seeing anyone cry outside of a performance, at least when they’re tears of anything other than happiness. She doesn’t hate it for the same reason Noah does, which is something about “chicks and their emotional blackmail.” No, she just doesn’t like it when people around her are unhappy.  
  
“Quinn, hey…” She’s entirely unsure of what the reaction will be, but she pulls Quinn to her and wraps her free arm tightly around Quinn’s back and rests her chin on Quinn’s shoulder. “You’re so hard on yourself about… everything,” she says, quietly. “I’m not asking you for anything, just please don’t shut me out over this. We can… talk about it later.”  
  
Quinn barks out a harsh laugh and then turns her head so that she’s practically hiding her face in Rachel’s neck. Shut her out. If Rachel only knew how hard Quinn is fighting right now to keep herself from grabbing Rachel and kissing her senseless. If anything, she wants to be closer, and she hates how vulnerable it makes her feel.   
  
Though, there’s no denying the fact that someone is holding her, for once. Holding Quinn Fabray and telling her that it’s going to be alright, when for so long, all anyone ever did was tell her what a disappointment she is or talk about how crazy she is or make her feel completely worthless. And here is the one person that she’s hurt most in the world and who stands a big chance of being hurt again, holding her.   
  
A particularly loud sob wrenches itself free and she hiccups into Rachel and clutches that much tighter. One of her arms is trapped between them, but the other is still around Rachel and clinging tightly.   
  
She lets Rachel hold her, and when she can finally speak again, she says, “I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”  
  
Rachel rubs her hand over Quinn’s back. She isn’t sure what to say in response, because everything she can think of feels trite in comparison to what Quinn’s just said to her. She settles on, “I know,” because she does. Or she’d like to think she knows Quinn well enough to understand that she has no intent or desire to hurt her.  
  
Quinn’s sobbing in her arms and Rachel keeps stroking her back in an effort to calm her down. The emotion in this moment is entirely different than the one they shared before, but the intimacy she’s experiencing is similar, if not more.  
  
“I’m sorry I ruined your… whatever this was.” She knows that her make-up must look awful, so she’s hesitant to pull away, once she’s calmed down. She also really likes the feel of someone looking after her again. The closest she ever really got to that was Finn, and he was just… no. “I know you put a lot of planning into it.”  
  
“You didn’t ruin anything,” Rachel assures her. She sits up enough to let Quinn move back, if she needs to. “Barry White, on the other hand…” She doesn’t care about Quinn’s make up and tries to catch her eye line to offer her the small smile that’s surfaced, because the whole music fiasco is now the highlight of the afternoon. As far as comic relief is concerned, anyway. The true highlight is still the kiss, but they’re clearly not in a place to get further into that, yet.  
  
Quinn laughs, and it’s one of those laughs that feels so good because she’s just been sobbing her heart out. “Barry White ruined everything, but Marvin Gaye is somehow exonerated,” she says, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’ll have to finish singing you ‘Lets Get It On’ some other time.”   
  
Quinn sits back, but for the first time in a long time, she doesn’t feel like running.   
  
That makes Rachel laugh as she leans forward to pull one of the paper napkins out of the metal napkin holder that sits on the deck table, then passes it to Quinn. “Careful, because you know I’ll hold you to that.” She still has one of Quinn’s hands wrapped up in hers and she likes it there. “Did you still want pie? We may have to climb in through a window to get it, but it would be nice to round out our afternoon with something that was on the agenda.”  
  
“That would be nice, Rach, but do you think that for a while we could just…” she trails off, hoping she can convey what she wants without actually saying it by leaning back and tugging on Rachel’s hand at the same time. She doesn’t know how to ask for Rachel just to stay with her, but at this point it’s more of a need than a want, she thinks. She’s not even thinking about kissing her right now; she just wants that feeling of comfort back, and Rachel is the only person she knows of that can actually give it.   
  
She lifts an eyebrow to see if Rachel catches her meaning. If not, then yes, absolutely. Pie is a close consolation to cuddling with Rachel after an emotional meltdown.   
  
It takes a moment for Rachel to realize that Quinn is, in fact, asking her to cuddle. As soon as it dawns on her, though, she immediately smiles and replies with, “We can definitely do that.” The lounger chair is a little wide, but not really made for two people, so as she maneuvers next to Quinn, there’s still plenty of overlap leaving her draped across a good half of Quinn’s body. “How do you want to…” It awkward to have to ask, but one of them is going to end up falling on the deck if they don’t figure this out.  
  
Rachel trying to figure out how to actually cuddle up to Quinn in this chair is one of the more adorable things Quinn has seen today, and she can’t help but smile as she watches Rachel wiggle in the chair, completely oblivious to Quinn.  
  
“How about… here,” she says, and wraps an arm around Rachel’s waist and pulls her down against Quinn’s body. It’s intimate without being inappropriate, and when Quinn lifts her arm over Rachel’s shoulder, there’s a perfectly sized nook for Rachel to sink into. It might be too hot for this position for the longterm, but Quinn doesn’t mind. She just wants to be close to Rachel right now, and she might change her mind later - Rachel isn’t asking anything of her, after all - but for now, she’s perfectly at ease. “Comfortable?” she asks, her cheek against the top of Rachel’s head.   
  
Rachel settles against Quinn and nods. “Very.”  
  
The music is still playing, but it’s at least reverted back to something instrumental. It still sounds very seventies and possibly like the score to a vintage adult film, but she doesn’t really care. Not while she’s lying in Quinn’s arms on a summer afternoon.


	13. We are all made of stars, Rachel Berry has dibs on being the brightest one of all.

It’s not unlike the beginning of their Fourth of July outing. The mood is high after Quinn picked her up at home and they held hands on the drive over. This time, though, they’re alone. There are no families, no kids with sparklers.  
  
The football field is dark and Rachel has to use the flashlight app on her phone to see the ground. Normally, this might give her that creeping sensation she tends to get when it’s too dark and she’s thinking too hard about what’s looming in the shadows, but Quinn’s right next to her and she has this way of making Rachel feel safe, even when she isn’t really doing anything. Even so, she stays as close to Quinn as possible as they walk across the field.  
  
“What’s a good spot? The fifty yard line?” she asks, moving the light around to see just which line they’re currently standing on. She adjusts the quilt she’s carrying under her other arm, as she waits to see if Quinn approves of the location.  
  
Quinn hums her approval and then adds, “Just off it. You don’t want to be right on the chalk. Here.”   
  
She helps Rachel fan the quilt out on the field and then kneels down. She’s brought a thermos of lemonade and a pillow, and she drops them both down on the quilt before throwing a glance up at Rachel. “I’ve never actually done this before. Do you even know anything about constellations?”  
  
Rachel lowers herself onto the blanket and shakes her head, though she’s doubtful Quinn can actually see her with the lack of light now that she’s turned off her phone light. “No. I haven’t, done this, either. It’s why I put it on my list.”   
  
She closes her eyes for a few seconds to let them adjust. It’s not an entirely moonless night and when the re-opens her eyes, her vision is a little better. Quinn, however, is still just kind of a shape next to her. Rachel reaches over to feel for Quinn’s arm, then slides her hand down until she finds fingers and locks them together with her own. “I have an app on my phone, if we need it.”  
  
The moment Quinn feels Rachel’s fingers brush against her arm, she knows she’s in trouble. This is the first time they’ve ever been really truly alone together in the dark, and she’s suddenly nervous. Those fingers are soft and delicate - she tries to remember how on earth she ever ridiculed Rachel for them; they’re anything but masculine - and the way Rachel trails them down her skin and tangles them with her own makes her forget all of the objections she’s been going over in her mind for days. Objections that she shouldn’t be here tonight. That she shouldn’t allow herself to enjoy the way that Rachel tucks her feet beneath her when she sits or brushes at her bangs when she’s nervous or leans into Quinn that much more while she fumbles to light a whole football field with her cell phone.   
  
“How is your wrist?” she murmurs, vividly aware of how close they’re sitting. “Is it healing okay?”  
  
It’s funny - of all the times she’s been on this football field, in this exact spot, this is the first time she’s actually felt genuinely happy to be here.   
  
“It itches, but other than that, it seems to be healing just fine. Daddy’s really excited about it and keeps reminding me to take care of it the right way so the ink doesn’t fade. Which I already was doing before he said anything. But, it’s kind of cool that he’s invested in it. Dad, on the other hand is… not so thrilled.” Rachel’s starting to make out the edges of the stadium seats in the moonlight and, when she looks down, she can kind of see their hands linked together. “Did yours drive you crazy at first? It’s in the middle of your back, so I can imagine it was uncomfortable.”  
  
“It was a little painful, but it healed fine. And I’ve never exactly had difficulty coping with pain.” Somewhere in the back of her mind, she’s aware that she’s rubbing the back of Rachel’s hand with her thumb. “Besides, it was kind of important to me. One, my mother hated it, and two, it was meant to be an ironic statement about glee club, actually. Which, until I had Beth, was the only really good thing I’d done.” She shifts slightly and pulls Rachel’s hand into her lap. “It’s cool that one of your dads is supportive. You seem really close with them.”   
  
“It’s always been the three of us in the same house, so we can’t help it.” Rachel laughs a little. “That’s something Dad says, anyway. They’re great, though. And I know not everyone has… that.” The last thing she wants to do is rub it in just how fun and accepting her family has always been when she knows Quinn’s been though awful situations with her own. And suddenly, she wants to ask something, but she isn’t sure if it’s a safe topic, so she treads as lightly as possible. “You don’t have to answer this, but… do you get to see Beth, a lot?”  
  
“I appreciate the out, but… I don’t mind talking about her,” Quinn says slowly. She’s not sure if it’s the night air or the fact that she’s only just barely able to see Rachel’s face in the dark or if it’s the silent ‘to you’ she tacked on in her head, but she really is okay right now. She feels safe, even, and it makes her smile. “I really don’t get to see her,” she admits. “Shelby and I… we tried, but by the time I was serious, it was too late. I’d already burned her, and she pulled Beth back.” Quinn bites her lip, wills herself not to cry, and focuses on Rachel’s hand in hers. “I won’t ever stop trying though,” she adds softly.   
  
“Good,” Rachel says, clasping her other hand over the two that are already linked together. “Because, one day, she’s going to want to know more about you and if you’re already making the effort… it will mean a lot to her. Especially because you genuinely want to be a part of her life.” Of all the things Rachel’s been through up to this point in her life, this is one of the strangest and most complicated, especially given the current rapidly forming bond between herself and Quinn. “And if Shelby doesn’t see that…” She shrugs, though the gesture is likely lost in the darkness. “It’s not like she’s never made any mistakes.” It comes out a little more bitter than Rachel’s used to, but then maybe this is an area that still needs a little healing.  
  
“Hey,” Quinn says, and she’s turning and leaning and her free hand is finding its way to tucking Rachel’s hair behind her ear. “Rach, we both know that Shelby’s not my favorite person, but it’s not just because she’s keeping me away from my daughter when she promised me an open adoption. As a mother, I obviously don’t understand how she can bear staying away from her own birth daughter, but as your friend, I have no idea how she could possibly have met you and not want you in her life.” Quinn clears her throat. She’s not used to being so vocal about her feelings, but it’s the honest-to-god truth. “It’s her loss,” she adds helplessly.   
  
The reason this is something that Rachel hasn’t gotten over is because she doesn’t let herself think about it, very much. “I know I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t care so much. It was a different situation than what you went through with Beth. And I have two great parents who have given me everything, so I feel guilty that I even want her to… treat me like more than just another student.”  
  
There’s a reversal happening, because Rachel suddenly doesn’t want to talk about this, anymore. And, yet, Quinn’s being so open and sincere. They’re facing each other now, instead of being side-by-side, so Rachel lifts her hand up until it rests on Quinn’s shoulder. “Sorry, we’re supposed to be looking at stars.”  
  
“Would it be cheesy for me to say that I am?” Quinn says softly. She has no idea why that when she gets around Rachel, this particular side of her comes out, but she finds herself frequently wanting to tease and open doors and compliment. It’s not something that’s happened before, and she’s not sure what she thinks of it or how she should handle it. For now, she maps Rachel’s chin with her thumb and adds, “You can’t help what you care about, Rachel,” and it suddenly feels like Shelby might not be the only topic on the table.   
  
“Cheesy, yes. Unwarranted, no.” And that’s enough to make Rachel smile, because lately Quinn has this way of putting her at ease, with her tone, her touch, and probably the look she’s giving Rachel, but she can’t quite see it. She leans in, closing what little distance there is between the two of them and presses a soft and sweet kiss to Quinn’s lips. “That’s for the yearbook page,” she says, almost whispering.  
  
This is becoming familiar ground quickly for Quinn. Ever since that day on Rachel’s deck, every time they’re together, it doesn’t take long at all for one of them to pull at the other, or lean in, or raise an eyebrow. And she can’t explain it, but every single time feels like belonging. She’s way past accepting how kissing Rachel makes her feel. She loves it when Rachel kisses her like this— soft and sweet and barely enough time to really get her fill. It’s never enough, and Rachel has perfected the art of making Quinn want more.  
  
When Rachel pulls back, Quinn brushes her thumb across Rachel’s bottom lip. “You’re welcome,” Quinn murmurs. And then, “it made you happy,” like it’s the most natural thing in the world. In this moment, it is.   
  
Rachel’s already been riding on a bit of a high ever since she found out Quinn was directly responsible for their sophomore year glee club page, but that feeling is multiplied when Quinn seems to understand just how important it still is to her. She nods, just a little, her nose bumping against Quinn’s. “It really did.” But there aren’t enough of the right words for her to express herself, so she’s back to kissing, though this time there’s a promise of longevity because she doesn’t make any effort to pull back after the initial contact.  
  
The minute Rachel’s mouth is pressed to hers again, Quinn cups Rachel’s face with one hand and kisses her back, slender fingers of the other kneading softly at the back of Rachel’s neck. Her eyes flutter closed and she lets herself taste Rachel for a while before swiping her tongue against Rachel’s lower lip.   
  
There’s a whimper from Rachel before her hand slides from Quinn’s shoulder to the back of her neck. She’s very much enjoyed kissing Quinn since the first time it happened, but each and every encounter since then seems to get better. Maybe because they’re getting to know each other, both as individuals and, well, physically. Not that they’ve done more than this. But even with something as simple as kissing, she feels as if she’s learned a little about what Quinn likes.   
  
Which is why she parts her lips to graze her tongue along Quinn’s. She surprises herself, though, by making another small sound. Apparently, Quinn isn’t the only one who’s a fan.  
  
Quinn wants to say Rachel’s name, but she doesn’t want to end the kiss. What results is a half-moan, half-whine that gets poured into Rachel’s mouth. That, along with the feel of Rachel’s tongue in her own mouth, is enough to make her clutch at Rachel in an effort to bring them as close as possible.   
  
One of her hands is on Rachel’s waist, making circles and squeezing lightly, and before she can even register what’s happening, her fingers are beneath the hem and grazing over the smoothest skin. They’re going to have to break apart soon, but for now she just wants as much as she can have.   
  
The sensation of Quinn’s fingers touching her skin causes Rachel to inhale sharply though her nose. Her tongue draws back and she breathes out, “Quinn.” It’s not a signal to stop, just some verbal encouragement. She continues kissing Quinn, but she strays from her lips, in favor of the span along Quinn’s jaw, then the soft skin of her neck below. As much time as they’ve spent kissing, so far, there hasn’t been much exploration beyond what they were just doing.  
  
“Oh wow,” Quinn breathes when she feels Rachel’s mouth on her neck. “That’s—” She can’t say what it is because it’s so good and all she can do is clench her hands wherever they are, which means one tightens in Rachel’s hair and the other is grasping at her shirt. She sinks back, pulling Rachel with her, and they land on quilt with a thud.   
  
Rachel falls against Quinn’s shoulder and the rest of her is awkwardly splayed partly across Quinn’s body and partly on the blanket. She lifts her head and pushes herself up on her elbow so she can toss her hair over her shoulder, so it isn’t in Quinn’s face. The moonlight seems brighter, though maybe it’s just because she’s adopted her night vision or because Quinn’s face is now at a better angle to catch the light. Whatever’s happened, she can see Quinn looking up at her and all she can think is that Quinn looks like some kind of angel, which is so cheesy even she can’t bring herself to say it. Instead, her head drops back down so she can resume kissing Quinn’s neck, but not before she mutters, “You were saying something?”  
  
Quinn hums and tilts her head to give Rachel more room. It’s unbelievable, the sensations coursing through her body right now. For all of her experience, for all of her boyfriends, god, for not even being a virgin, she’s never felt anything like this before. Her hand slips back under the hem of Rachel’s shirt and strokes lazily up and down her side.   
  
“I can’t believe how good that feels,” Quinn murmurs. The way Rachel’s kissing her neck is killing her, and Quinn feels an urgency that she hasn’t ever felt before. It’s like some kind of need, but she’s not sure exactly for what, except that it somehow feels like it’s for _more_.  
  
All of the times she’s teased guys and wielded this unseen power over them, she’s really never understood it until this moment. Right now, she feels like Rachel could ask her for the moon, and Quinn would find a way to give it to her. She’s holding Rachel’s head in place, but she still feels the need to whisper, “please, please don’t stop.”   
  
Rachel focuses on a spot at the base of Quinn’s neck, just above the collar of her shirt. Quinn actually begging her to continue is something she never thought she’d experience, nor did she expect that it would give her a physical reaction, namely one that’s left her incredibly turned on.  
  
Her body is still slightly askew from their initial position change, so she does her best to straighten out. This leaves her on her side, pressed up against Quinn. Her free arm rests across Quinn’s stomach and her fingers absently trace and tug the fabric of her shirt.  
  
The citrus scent of Quinn’s shampoo mingles with the smell of the well maintained grass that surround them and Rachel knows this is a moment she’s going to remember.  
  
Quinn’s breath is steadily becoming more rapid, and the way that Rachel is pressed against her draws her attention to the way her chest is rising and falling. It seems like her whole body is humming, and she grabs at Rachel, trying to pull her closer. It’s just the two of them here, and Quinn is finally ready to accept that what they’ve been doing the past few weeks is something she wants, right now at least.   
  
She can feel the heat coming off of Rachel’s body, can hear the sounds she’s making, can still taste Rachel’s mouth on her tongue. And when Rachel sucks lightly for the first time, just at that spot above her collar, she can’t possibly help the moan that rumbles up her throat. She’ll do anything, if only Rachel will keep making her feel this way.  
  
This is a clear example of where things differ from Rachel’s previous make out experiences. With her boyfriends, she made them wait to make certain advances, she kept an informal schedule, she planned things. Right now, on what isn’t even an official dating type date, she’s so close to Quinn that she’s pretty sure she can feel her heart beating and she still wants to be closer. Maybe it’s because she’s older and a little more experienced that she was when she first started dating Jesse or Finn, but she isn’t really that concerned about where Quinn’s hand might end up.  
  
Instead, she’s curious. She wants to know if the reactions she’s getting from Quinn are limited to this one specific region of her neck, or if it applies to the entire general area. Her head tips upward and she tries her luck just below Quinn’s ear. She could spend all night on this kind of trial and error if Quinn keeps reacting with similar sounds and touches.  
  
Quinn’s entire body feels like it’s made of breaths and sighs, trembling and shuddering from the inside, out. She doesn’t know anything anymore— not what her dating experiences to this point made her feel, not where she’ll find herself come autumn, and certainly not why she resisted this for so long. All she can think right now is that the person she is in this moment, with Rachel Berry pressed against her beneath a nighttime sky, is the person she hopes that one day, she can truly be.   
  
What Rachel is doing with her mouth is liquefying Quinn, and it’s all she can do to hold on. Her fingernails scratch lightly against Rachel’s scalp, and it seems to her - dimly, in the back of her mind - that her muscles are working without her consent.   
  
“Rachel,” she breathes, her eyes still closed, her lungs still pumping air in and out. “Rachel, Rachel.” She knows no other words.   
  
There are ribs beneath the hand not in Rachel’s hair; she can feel them, and the skin there is so soft, so very smooth. She can’t help but rub her palm against it, feel the ribs all the way up, all the way back down, before starting the process all over again. This time, she uses her fingernails just to see how Rachel will respond.   
  
Rachel’s midsection contracts, then relaxes. “That… tickles,” she breathes against Quinn’s ear. Ticklish or not, she doesn’t want Quinn to stop. “It’s good, though,” she adds, before angling her chin back down. The sensation she’s feeling against her own skin makes her curious about what else she can do. Instead of her lips, this time she uses her teeth, very lightly, then her tongue.  
  
She has a handful of Quinn’s shirt that she now releases in favor of wrapping around Quinn’s side and gripping her. It’s something between leverage and possession, but she’s not really thinking about any intent outside of wanting as much contact as possible.  
  
The moment Quinn feels Rachel’s teeth on her neck, she’s lost. Nothing — nothing — has ever felt like this before. By the time teeth are replaced with tongue, Quinn is panting, “how are you so good at this?” and dragging her hands at Rachel to pull them more together. The hand in Rachel’s hair tenses and pulls, tugging at Rachel, hinting at Quinn’s need to be kissing her again.   
  
Rachel honestly isn’t sure about the answer to Quinn’s question. She’s certainly not lacking in general experience, but this is still some new territory for her, especially since they’re still learning so much about each other.  
  
She smiles at Quinn’s urgency for more kissing and she can’t help but sigh as her lips meet Quinn’s again. While urgent, it doesn’t feel rushed. There isn’t a sense that Quinn’s just trying to get under her skirt (even though she does have a hand under Rachel’s shirt). There’s a very long list of things Rachel can think of that she still wants to do with Quinn, but at the same time, there’s a feeling of contentment.  
  
Now with Rachel laying more fully on top of Quinn, sighing quietly against her, Quinn feels an unexpected peace bloom in her chest and billow out, filling her up. She can feel Rachel smiling against her mouth, and she can’t help her own smile in answer. She’s never been more turned on in her life, but she’s also never felt this kind of peace before. It’s unbelievable, what Rachel is giving to her, and they’re only kissing.   
  
This time, when she skims her tongue along Rachel’s bottom lip, she knows exactly what she’s doing. She needs that taste again, the one that is unmistakably Rachel, and that floods into Quinn the second Rachel opens her mouth. She’s done a lot of kissing in her life, but Rachel Berry’s kisses are by far the best she’s ever had.  
  
She’s sure to keep her hand moving up and down Rachel’s side, but it’s not such a far reach for her with the way that Rachel is now draped across her body. She feels like Rachel is anchoring her to the earth, and it’s a good thing because if not, she’s sure she’d float away.   
  
Rachel’s lines are blurring. If this had been a non-date with Finn, she would have stopped him way before they were horizontal. The scariest but also incredibly thrilling thing about Quinn is that Rachel has no idea when or even if she’d slow things down.  
  
Which means maybe that time is now.  
  
“Quinn…” But even as she tries to speak, she can’t stop herself from returning Quinn’s kisses.  
  
“Hmm?” It’s so foggy in Quinn’s brain. She has these fleeting thoughts and ideas, but really all that she knows is that this is exactly where she wants to be. Rachel’s mouth is pressing against hers, hot and open, and the way that Rachel says her name is just… god. She wants more.   
  
When her hand gets to the top of Rachel’s ribs this time, she doesn’t stop it. She’s aware of its path, but like she’s far away, as if she’s watching it follow the natural curve of Rachel’s body around to her back and pressing there for a minute before sliding up between her shoulder blades. It’s rubbing on its own, and Quinn is dimly aware that the strap of Rachel’s bra is rubbing against the back of her hand.   
  
That feeling, the feeling of how close they are right now, sparks something deep inside of her, and she gasps against Rachel’s mouth and drags her fingernails across Rachel’s back.   
  
The few words Rachel already had prepared are quickly exchanged for a groan.  
  
“Quinn…” she repeats. “That… oh… that’s…”  
  
There’s no functional vocabulary, only more kissing. Rachel wants more, she wants so much more and she definitely doesn’t want to discourage Quinn. But she also needs to know what this is, what they’re doing together.  
  
“I really like this… but we should…” It’s a little difficult, forming sentences between kisses. “Slow down a second.”  
  
Quinn’s fingernails have criss-crossed back toward the other shoulder blade before she realizes that Rachel is actually talking to her. It’s hazy, and Quinn smiles again against Rachel’s mouth when she hears “I really like this,” but then the words “slow down” spark in her brain, and she forces herself to pull back with a gasp and drop her head back down to the quilt. Her chest is heaving against Rachel’s body, and she’s trying to search Rachel’s face, but it’s just a little too dark with Rachel’s back to the moon.   
  
Her hand is still scratching lightly at Rachel’s back, and she stills it but doesn’t pull it away. “Sorry,” she murmurs. “Guess I got carried away.” She knows there’s a dopey smile on her face right now, but she really can’t bring herself to care. She licks at her lips and whispers, “sorry,” again.   
  
“You don’t need to apologize. That was… This is…” Rachel can’t resist the urge to kiss Quinn one more time. “Really amazing. And there’s nowhere else I’d rather be, right now.”  
  
She resigns to resting her head on Quinn’s shoulder while her fingers trail up and down the side of Quinn’s shirt.  
  
Quinn chews her lip and absorbs Rachel’s words while she tries to get her breathing under control. The reality of her situation is starting to sink in. It’s not even that Rachel is a girl — she hasn’t thought of that issue once tonight, if she’s honest — it’s the fact that she’s Rachel Berry that has Quinn’s heart fluttering in her chest and her stomach feeling funny. Rachel is easily the most talented person she’s ever known; the girl with dreams bigger than this entire town and a voice big enough to take her anywhere she wants to go. This is the girl who is acting like there is no one else in the whole world besides Quinn, and it’s making her dizzy. Her entire body is on fire, and it’s Rachel who’s holding the match.   
  
She can’t help nuzzling her nose against Rachel’s hair before asking in a low voice, “Really?”   
  
“Really,” Rachel replies. “If this were actually a date it would rank pretty high on my list.” She’s easing into this topic as carefully as possible. The last thing she wants to do is make Quinn over think any of this. But she needs some kind of definition for who they are together. If it’s even possible, she draws herself even closer to Quinn.  
  
The breath against her neck, the fingers trailing up and down her shirt, the smell of Rachel’s hair, all of these things are distracting. It’s a warm night, but Quinn is shivering, and she tightens the arm around Rachel’s back. “Date?” she says hazily, twirling a strand of silky hair around her finger. She can’t remember another person feeling this good in her arms, ever, and she’s still trying to wrap her head around what’s happening between them. It feels like they’ve crossed some sort of line, but she doesn’t know why or what it means.   
  
Quinn sounds almost stoned and the realization that she’s the reason for it gives Rachel her own heady feeling. “Mhm. As in, when two people consent to various plans together out of mutual interest.”  
  
Two people… plans together… mutual interest. That seems exactly like…  
  
“Plans like… star gazing?” Quinn murmurs, still fascinated by that strand of Rachel’s hair. Her heart is still pounding in her chest, and she’s struggling to make sense of Rachel’s words. She honestly feels so fuzzy right now. She wants to be kissing Rachel again, but she’s also kind of glad for the break. Apparently, she needs it.   
  
“Yeah,” Rachel confirms. “Even if they seemingly abandon the star gazing plans for…” Her mouth is on Quinn’s neck, again. It’s so frustratingly difficult to keep focus when Quinn is right there, so close to her. Especially if Quinn’s going to keep playing with her hair and touching her in general. She pulls back and attempts to force herself to stay on topic. “I really like spending time with you, Quinn.” Her voice is soft with the admission, though it certainly isn’t any kind of a secret.  
  
At the feel of Rachel’s mouth on her neck, it’s difficult to say whether the sound Quinn makes is a gasp or a sigh. Her pulse is racing again, and she clutches at Rachel’s back while electricity shoots all the way through her. “Oh god,” she whispers, and then Rachel is speaking again, just that fast, and Quinn’s mind scrambles to catch the words before they flutter up into the night sky and are gone forever. And then she feels like she’s choking over the words, but she manages a shaky, “I like spending time with you, too.” And then she rolls her eyes. “Obviously,” she adds, though she’s sure it isn’t necessary.   
  
The temptation to go right back to kissing is incredibly strong, so Rachel decides to circumvent her sex drive and changes her position. She keeps her head on Quinn’s shoulder, but she pulls the rest of herself off of Quinn in exchange for lying next to her, still pressed as tightly together as possible. Now that she’s on her back, she can actually see the reason they came out here in the first place. “Oh, there they are.” She gropes around until she finds Quinn’s hand and wraps her own around it.  
  
Quinn could honestly not care less about the stars in this moment, and now that Rachel is no longer on top of her, she finally feels like she can take a minute and breathe deeply. She shuts her eyes and focuses on the rhythm in her lungs. When she feels Rachel’s hand find hers, she can’t help the smile or the gentle squeeze that goes along with it.   
  
Still, there are a lot of thoughts and feelings that are whirling inside of her. She wills her mind to slow down. She reminds herself she’s fine. She’s fine, she is. Nothing has changed from a few seconds ago when she was feeling so good. It’s still just her and Rachel, and Rachel’s hand is still in hers. She’s fine.   
  
She squeezes Rachel’s fingers once more, just to be extra sure.   
  
And when she opens her eyes again, there are only stars. She feels high up, like she’s floating, and there is nothing but the two of them and this sky. “So many,” she whispers. Rachel’s head is still on her shoulder, and she tilts her own until her cheek touches the top of Rachel’s head. “They’re beautiful.”  
  
As much as Rachel adores the dramatic, she loves these moments, too. Simple, quiet times where nothing else matters. She hasn’t really had many, at least not with someone else, not like this.  
  
She wants more of those, of this, of Quinn. And she has a strong feeling it’s something Quinn wants, too. But it’s nerve-wracking to be the one to put everything out there, even though so much already is.  
  
“So are you,” Rachel says, dragging her thumb back and forth over the back of Quinn’s hand.  
  
Quinn has lost count of how many times tonight Rachel has made her lose her breath.   
  
Beautiful.   
  
Rachel just called her beautiful. No one called her beautiful or pretty or cute when she was a little girl. She just— Lucy— just wasn’t any of those things. And then she fixed the things she thought made her ugly. She got a nose job. She lost weight. She became a blonde Cheerio, at the top of the entire high school social chain. And, still, nobody called her beautiful. Sure, she had boyfriends, but they always wanted to get into her pants, and they certainly weren’t charming about it.   
  
Is that what it is about Rachel? That she’s charming? And innocent and talented and intelligent and— and beautiful, herself.   
  
She’s overwhelmed, and she presses a kiss wherever she can reach, which happens to be somewhere in Rachel’s hair.   
  
“Thank you,” she says softly. She wants so badly to tell Rachel everything she feels right now— how happy she is in this moment, how gorgeous Rachel is, how talented, how lucky she feels. But all of those words stick in her throat and no matter how she swallows and fidgets, she can’t make them move.   
  
Rachel lifts their joined hands up to her mouth and kisses Quinn’s fingers. It’s as if she can’t resist kissing Quinn in some capacity for more than a couple minutes at a time. “I think you’re a lot of other things, too: Smart, strong, talented, extremely adept at making lemonade…” She doesn’t want to overdo this, but she definitely wants Quinn to know that she’s special.  
  
On top of that, she wants to come clean about her feelings, her ideal expectations. “I think you’re an amazing person, Quinn. It’s why I really… would want to… go out with you.” She feels good about it until the last phrase. It sounds so juvenile, so high school.  
  
Quinn eyes get wide, even for her standards, and she feels like she must look like a cartoon cat. Like it’s comic relief, except that it’s not funny and it certainly doesn’t feel like relief. She pulls back enough to have some breathing room and says, “Go… out with me. As in… date me.” She’s clarifying, but it doesn’t sound like a question at all. 

 

She doesn’t need to ask; she knows exactly what’s happening. Rachel wants to discuss the possibility of them being a couple, and all she can think to say is, “But you’re leaving in a few months to go to New York.”  
  
Rachel resists the urge to correct her about the fact that it’s really, technically, matter of weeks, not even months. “I know. That’s why this wasn’t a marriage proposal, because I’m not asking for forever.” She props herself back up on her elbow. “I really like you, you know that. We have fun together. And I… honestly cannot stop thinking about kissing you. And given the way things were already going a few minutes ago, I’m not opposed to doing more than that.” She pauses, to draw in the breath she needs, not for anything other than a steadying moment. “But I’m not planning to do that… other stuff with someone who isn’t my…” Girlfriend is too big of a word to throw around, right now, even for Rachel. “With someone I’m not dating.”  
  
“Marriage proposal,” Quinn echoes idiotically. She’s still buzzing from Rachel’s kisses, still trying to remember how to breathe at a normal pace, and Rachel is throwing around phrases like ‘marriage proposal.’ By the time that finally sinks in, Rachel’s already dropped the next bomb of a phrase, ‘not opposed to doing more,’ and Quinn is in a tailspin. Is that something she even wants? More with Rachel? She doesn’t exactly have to think long about that to know that the answer is unequivocally yes. She closes her eyes for a moment. The whole world is dizzy.   
  
“Rach,” she says feebly. This is exactly like the first time she fell off the top of the pyramid. She’d landed flat on her back, not far from this very spot, and had laid there, sprawled on the field, gasping like a fish on the dock. She’s not gasping like that now, but she feels like she should be. As much as she wants to, she doesn’t pull away. She focuses, concentrates very hard on the thumb that’s still caressing the back of her hand, and her fingers remain firmly entwined with Rachel’s when she asks in a small voice, “And what happens when you leave Lima? I’m not exactly the type of girl to follow someone anywhere, Rachel.”   
  
It’s a quiet admission, but it’s there. Quinn Fabray has finally learned how to tell the truth, and it hurts so much. God, she had no idea that she’d allowed herself to become so invested in— in this, in whatever it is they’ve been doing, but she has and now it hurts. Exactly like she knew it would.   
  
“I’m not asking you to follow me, Quinn.” Rachel wishes it were a little bit lighter outside, because she wants to be able to see Quinn’s face more clearly. But maybe it’s actually easier in the dark. “I’m asking you to let us have the summer to do this,” she says quietly. “You’re always so calculated about everything you do and I completely understand and respect that. I know what it’s like to have plans and expectations.” She draws their hands up against her chest, trying to keep Quinn tethered so she doesn’t drift away. “If we don’t do things because we’re always too worried about eventual outcome, we’ll never do anything.” Quinn’s silence is making her nervous and that just drives her to keep talking. “I’d much rather have a summer of memories with someone I care about instead of looking back and wishing I’d done more than just worry about the future.”  
  
After that, Rachel forces herself to shut up, to let her words settle before she says too much. She’s still up on her elbow, looking down at Quinn, but she doesn’t want to appear intimidating, so she lies back down.   
  
As she looks up at the sky, she manages to catch sight of a shooting star. Just in time. She could use a little help, right about now.  
  
“Someone you care about?” Quinn can still feel Rachel’s heart thudding beneath her fingers, and she chews her lip for a very long time before she speaks again. And when she does, her voice is dry and cracked, and she prays silently she can say what she needs to say. “I am calculated. I can’t help it. But I hear you, Rachel; every word, and I need… I’m not saying no, but please give me some time to think about this.” She doesn’t add aloud that she’s already weighing the pain she feels against the happiness and clarity that Rachel has given her in just one hour beneath the stars. It’s possible to do this; to give Rachel everything she wants. She knows that she can. She’s just not sure what it will do to her in the long run. She’s already lost so much.   
But didn’t she say it best herself to Rachel not an hour ago? She’s no stranger to coping with pain. She’s fairly certain of what her answer will be, she just needs time to be sure.  
  
Rachel’s both relieved and disappointed. But she understands. “Of course. I shouldn’t have pressured you.”  
  
She stares up at the stars and makes a half-hearted attempt to identify something. She thinks maybe she sees Orion’s Belt, but then she isn’t sure what it’s supposed to look like. “And, yes, I do care about you. Even outside of what I just suggested.”  
  
“Hey.” Quinn is incredibly affected by the tone in Rachel’s voice. It’s the same voice Rachel uses when she talks about Shelby, and Quinn finds that when it’s directed at her it sends a pang through her heart. She pulls Rachel to her and wraps her arm tight around Rachel’s shoulders. “You didn’t pressure me, Rach. I just want to be sure that this is something we can both handle.” She nuzzles into Rachel’s hair and whispers against her ear, “Okay? I really like being with you. Really. I just want to be sure.”   
  
“Okay,”Rachel whispers in response, her eyes closed as she concentrates on the safe sensation of Quinn’s arm around her. As much as she wants this, Quinn has a very good point. For now, she can work with the fact that they both like being together. For now.  
  
There is still one thing that’s missing, though. “You still have yet to dazzle me with your knowledge of North American constellations.”  
  
Quinn half snorts and half rolls her eyes. “Dazzle you, huh? There.” She points and outlines the one constellation she’s sure of. “Big dipper.” Her mouth is still close to Rachel’s ear, and she can’t help but whisper, “Are you dazzled?”  
  
Rachel laughs and lets her eyes drift shut. “Absolutely.”


	14. Absolutely Yes, I'd Love to Go To The Fair

The last time Quinn was at the fair, she wasn’t Quinn at all— she was Lucy, and Lucy got sick on the Tilt-a-Whirl in front of everyone. There’s naturally some apprehension left over from that memory, not to mention the fact that it also happens to be a date - an actual, honest-to-god date - with Rachel Berry, so by the time she pulls her car into a parking space, she’s more than a little nervous. A date. A date with another girl. God, she doesn’t even want to think about what that means right now.   
  
Rachel hasn’t pushed Quinn to meet her dads yet, but Quinn knows that if they continue down the path that they’re currently on, it’s an inevitability. She’s sure that they’re fantastic parents with the way Rachel talks about them, but they know how things were in high school, how she behaved, how she’s not a nice person, and the thought of meeting them is just— she’d rather do a thousand of Coach Sylvester’s Survival Trainings in a row.   
  
The one thing she has going for her in this moment is that Rachel is currently stroking the back of her hand with a gentle thumb, and Quinn still feels nervous, but she’s also feeling a warmth in her chest that she always seems to get around Rachel. When she finally glances over nervously, she’s struck with how unequivocally pretty Rachel is, and she just sort of sighs and says, “I don’t think I told you how nice you look. Really, really pretty, Rach.”   
  
For the occasion, Rachel has chosen a breezy red and white dress that looks almost as if it were made specifically to be worn to a county fair. Her matching accessory of choice this time is a thin red belt, in lieu of a headband. It’s a casual look. And it took Rachel seven wardrobe changes to decide that it was the right one.  
  
Which is why she’s pleased that Quinn seems to like it so much. “Thank you,” she says, unable to stop the slight warmth that rapidly spreads across her cheeks. She’s accustomed to compliments, she has to be with the amount of talent she’s been given, but whenever they come from Quinn they feel like… more. “I wasn’t sure if I overdressed.” Quinn’s dressed more casually, while still managing to look, well, sexy in her plaid button up and jeans.   
  
Rachel can’t quite bring herself to say that, but she does manage, “I really like that shirt on you.”  
  
“You look perfect, actually,” Quinn says sincerely, and she’s suddenly very aware of how Rachel’s hand feels in hers and how it’s been two days since she’s felt Rachel’s mouth against her own. Now there’s nothing else in the world she can think about and when she realizes that Rachel has caught Quinn staring at her lips, she drops her eyes and blushes. She still feels totally comfortable around Rachel - it gets easier every time they’re together, if she’s honest - but she’s still a little unsure of how to proceed since this is an official date.   
  
She settles for leaning forward and brushing her lips lightly against Rachel’s cheek. “Wait here,” she instructs softly, and then she’s out of the car and walking around to open Rachel’s door for her. She has no idea if Rachel would think this type of treatment offensive or if she might swoon over it, but she’s operating completely on instinct, at this point. Once Rachel’s door is open, they’re holding hands once more and Quinn can’t help but smile. “I know that you probably want to talk about,” she clears her throat, “whatever this is, and I’m okay with that. I really just wanted to try it out first.” She can feel her face burning, but she adds anyway, “You know, see how we fit.”   
  
Her voice is as low as she can make it, but she still feels incredibly self-conscious. In all of her previous relationships, she either had all of the power and could make demands whenever she wanted, or she had none of the power and felt trapped and lonely. This is the first time that she’s ever felt like she’s truly on equal ground with another person before, and she really likes it.   
  
For as cautious as Quinn appears to be about concept of dating, Rachel can’t help but notice how sweet everything is, so far. The kiss on her cheek has her smiling as she steps out of the car and when Quinn opens the door and takes her hand, Rachel sighs happily. “So far, I think we fit rather nicely,” she says as she leans against Quinn.  
  
“Stop thinking so hard about it, Quinn.” Rachel’s voice is gentle as they walk toward the entry gates. “It’s just you, me, and the fair. As long as you don’t buy me a corn dog and expect me to eat it, it’s going to be fine.”  
  
Despite the mini pep talk, Rachel is slightly nervous. She doesn’t want to be and she somewhat hates that she is, but this is her first official date out with another girl and she has no idea how they’ll be received. Growing up with two fathers, she’s heard what people can say and seen the looks people can give. Sure, it will likely be different because she and Quinn are two young women who will automatically be viewed differently than two men holding hands. She knows she can hold her own, at least verbally, with anyone who has anything to say. But her bigger fear is how Quinn might react if someone gives them a hard time.  
  
Her hand tightens around Quinn’s and she bumps her shoulder against Quinn’s arm. “I am, however, something of a cotton candy fiend.”  
  
“No corn dogs, check.” The feeling of Rachel leaning against her is a good one, and she can’t help but smile. “What about squid on a stick? How do you feel about that?” It’s one of her favorite memories of Rachel, hands down— the freedom squid and the lengths Rachel was willing to go to in order to save it. It was the first moment that Quinn actually felt something real, and she’ll never forget it.   
  
And now she’s just thinking of watching Rachel eat cotton candy and how her mouth might taste afterward, and… no. Being here with Rachel isn’t aboutthat. It’s about— figuring out if Quinn can do this.   
  
She pays for two tickets and tells Rachel, “I’ll get you all the cotton candy you can handle.”   
  
“That’s a lot, just so you know.” Rachel moves past Quinn to join the short line at the entry gate. “And, the last time you taunted me with a squid, we ended up having an impromptu swim party. So, you might want to watch yourself around any open water features, Ms. Fabray.” She smirks at Quinn over her shoulder before passing through the turnstile.  
  
As she recalls that day in the pool, she thinks about the events that led up to her realizing that she had feelings for Quinn. There’s still a very clear image in her mind of Quinn with her wet hair stuck to her face. Perhaps it’s silly to reminisce about something that only happened a few weeks ago, but it was a milestone that directly led to where they are now. “What’s your favorite fair food?”  
  
Rachel’s question makes Quinn’s memory of poor little Lucy getting sick on the Tilt-a-Whirl flood back into her mind, and she cringes as she catches up. “I’m not really a big fan of fair food,” she says carefully, taking Rachel’s hand again. She really thought that she’d be more apprehensive to hold Rachel’s hand in public, but they don’t know anyone here, and even if they did, Quinn isn’t sure that she would care at this point. “What would you like to do first, Rach?”  
  
“Other than the cotton candy, I only have two event-related specifics on my list: The ferris wheel and winning an obnoxiously large stuffed animal for my date.” Rachel’s always been the object of affection in her previous relationships and while she technically isn’t in one at this time, she likes the idea of a more balanced approach. “But before we get to either of those, where do you think the best place is for pictures?”  
  
“Well, I was kind of hoping they would have one of those photo booths here. Could be fun to have a strip of photos from today. Otherwise, I need to walk around first, get a feel for the fairgrounds before I can say for sure. I assume you don’t really want much in the background for a headshot? I’m sorry— I don’t really know how headshots work. I’ve never done them before.” The idea that she’s actually going to finally photograph Rachel has her feeling almost giddy. She’s been thinking about this for a while now, and Rachel seems excited about it. As an afterthought, she adds, “You want to win me a stuffed animal?”  
  
Rachel’s already thinking about where she can place the photo strip on her bulletin board. “Oh, well… I haven’t ever taken any myself, either. But I do know that they should be head and shoulder shots. And you should be able to see my eyes. The rest is up to you.” She glances over at Quinn and adds, “I trust your photographic eye to capture what looks best.” There’s a sign indicating a petting zoo to the left, so she tugs Quinn in that direction. “I don’t just want to win you a stuffed animal, I want it to be so big that we have to figure out how to fit it in the car.”  
  
“The petting zoo? That surprises me, a little,” Quinn murmurs, but she squeezes Rachel’s fingers gently and follows her. “Why do I feel like you’ve been thinking for a while about this giant stuffed animal scenario?”   
  
“Why, because I’m vegan? It’s because I like animals, you know.” Rachel smiles and squeezes back. “And I just want you to have a token of remembrance for today’s outing.”  
  
They approach an area with a low fence that contains several young goats, sheep, and a few pot-bellied pigs. “How can you still eat bacon after meeting these little guys?” she asks, pointing out one of the pigs.  
  
Quinn rolls her eyes. “If ‘meeting these little guys’ is going to change my opinion of bacon, it’s going to be because they’re filthy, not because they’re cute,” she says, but she’s smiling as she watches them with Rachel. They arekind of cute, but it’s not like she’s going to fawn over them.   
  
Instead, she can’t stop thinking about what Rachel said about making sure to show off her eyes in the headshots. It’s perfect, because now Quinn has a valid excuse for paying extra attention to those eyes today, and she’s excited about that. And then there’s Rachel’s desire to ride the ferris wheel— it was all Quinn could do not to react to it when Rachel brought it up, but she’s been overcome with images and feelings ever since. Her brain flits back and forth between Rachel’s gorgeous eyes and how she might be able to kiss Rachel for the entire duration of the ferris wheel ride. She should buy Rachel her cotton candy just before, then, just in case. God, cotton candy kisses…  
  
She laces their fingers together more intimately and bites her lower lip. Yeah, she’s very much looking forward to the rest of this date.   
  
Rachel doesn’t actually care to go inside of the pen with the animals, because she doesn’t want to risk getting dirty before Quinn takes her photos, so she’s content just to watch the animals mill around while young kids feed them. “Must be nice, having your life be to just hang out and be hand fed,” she comments.  
  
The slight change in their handhold gives her a warm feeling in her chest. Whenever Quinn’s the one to do something like that, no matter how simple, it reminds Rachel that this isn’t one-sided, that she isn’t chasing Quinn. Quinn’s right here, holding her hand, and doing an adorably sexy lip-biting thing that quickly derails Rachel’s G-Rated train of thought.  
  
Quinn has no idea what comes over her when she presses her lips to Rachel’s ear and whispers, “You want to be hand fed? Maybe we can see what happens with the cotton candy later…” She goes back to watching the animals as if she hasn’t just whispered something extremely suggestive into Rachel’s ear, but she’s not really seeing them anymore. Instead, she sees a mental image of sticky blue sugar disappearing between Rachel’s lips and a tongue darting out to lick at stained lips. God, what is wrong with her lately?  
  
At Quinn’s words low in her ear, Rachel feels warmth, again. Only it’s not in her chest. It’s lower and it makes her wish they weren’t in public. Her mouth opens to respond, but she can’t think of anything to say that’s appropriate while there are children present. It’s one thing to be thinking about things she wants to do with Quinn, it’s another to hear that husky voice suggest something of its own.  
  
It takes a moment to compose herself, but when she does, she decides they should move along. Because that puts them one step closer to… whatever Quinn wants to do. “We should do some more exploring. For the pictures.”  
  
In spite of her fantasies, it hasn’t escaped Quinn that her words have left Rachel completely derailed, and she can’t help but feel proud and exhilarated at the same time. This is the power she’s used to feeling, and it’s nice to be on the wielding end, for once, since Rachel is usually the one reducing her to a compliant puddle. That fluster looks good on Rachel’s face, Quinn decides, and she smirks and leads Rachel away from the petting zoo. “Whatever you want to do, Rach,” she says.   
  
It’s a shame that they’re surrounded by families because all Quinn really wants to do now is show Rachel how attentive she can be. There’s a quiet rush in secretly looking for out-of-the-way places where she and Rachel might have a little privacy as they meander through the crowd, heading nowhere in particular.   
  
As much as Quinn is thinking about Rachel’s mouth, they’re not in a hurry. They have all afternoon and evening, and this feels a lot like that night on the football field, when Quinn felt comfortable enough not only to kiss Rachel and run her hands over Rachel’s skin, but to wrap her arms around slender shoulders and feel gentle puffs of breath even out against her neck as they fell asleep together on a quilt beneath the stars. That night, they’d gone further together than they ever had before, both physically and emotionally, and Quinn felt nothing but peace about it.   
  
Eventually, they emerge into a row of game tents, and Quinn can see a shooting gallery, a weight-guessing game, several different types of ring tosses, and that booth where you have to knock bottles down with baseballs. There are several other rows of game tents that she can’t quite see, each with strings of prizes draped around. Quinn noses against Rachel’s ear again. “What’s your game, Rachel Berry?” she asks in that same low voice, her lips brushing against Rachel’s hair.   
  
There it is, again, that feeling low in her gut, dull heat spreading at the sound of Quinn’s voice. Rachel can’t recall ever reacting like this to someone’s speaking voice, but now it’s happened twice in just as many minutes.  
  
She distracts herself from her current thought that has her trapping Quinn up against the support beam of the nearest game tent and kissing her until she passes out from lack of oxygen, by looking down the midway at the available game options.  
  
“Anything that requires patience and strategy over sheer force,” she says, risking a glance over at Quinn, but it’s a mistake because there have been no wardrobe changes so Quinn’s still wearing that plaid shirt. If it’s possible, she manages to look even sexier in it now than she did in the car.  
  
Her own words give her an idea. If Quinn wants to play this game, fine.  
  
She turns to face Quinn and tugs a little on the collar as she leans in, close to Quinn’s ear. “I know I said I like this on you, but I’m thinking I might like it better off you.” She releases the shirt and smooths out any wrinkles she’s created.  
  
And then she’s back to studying the rows of games laid out in front of them. “Ring toss, maybe?”  
  
Quinn doesn’t know whether it’s the teasing, sexy tone in Rachel’s voice or the tug on her collar or the idea of Rachel taking her shirt off and letting it pool around their feet on the floor that has her eyes slipping shut and her chest rising and falling rapidly, but she does know one thing— she likes it. A lot. She lets out a ragged breath and murmurs, “God, Rachel, you can’t say things like that.”   
  
“What? Ring toss?” Rachel asks, as innocently as possible.  
  
Her eyes scan the variety of available prizes as she looks for the game with the biggest stuffed animal available to win. About half a dozen booths down, she spots a game with several Spongebobs that look like they’d stand at nearly her own height if they were on the ground next to her. “Let’s see what that one is.”  
  
Quinn slowly lets out the breath she’s holding and mumbles, “I hate you,” before following Rachel to the Spongebob booth. She’s uncomfortably turned on, and she’d rather be alone with Rachel somewhere, but it’s probably a good thing that she’s not, all things considered. At the very least, they need to have a talk before Quinn allows herself to be very physical with Rachel again. She deserves that much.   
  
“You have a funny way of showing it,” Rachel replies. She rubs her thumb along Quinn’s in a soothing gesture, as if to signal a truce in the suggestive talk. As fun as it is, she doesn’t want to push too hard and risk making Quinn uncomfortable. Though, Quinn’s really the one who started it, in the first place.  
  
Rachel running her thumb against Quinn’s hand is doing nothing to help her state of arousal, and she’s forced to allow Rachel to steer them when her eyes flutter again. It’s very difficult to focus on anything with the way Rachel is touching her. Rachel’s words about seeing Quinn out of her shirt are still burning in Quinn’s ears, and she desperately wants Rachel to feel as turned on as she is in this moment. She knows that she won’t be able to say something as blatantly sexual as Rachel - she’s just not that comfortable yet with what they’re doing - but she’s determined to do her best. Just as they clear the row of Spongebobs, Quinn pulls at her and whispers, “I can’t wait to taste that cotton candy on you.”  
  
“Quinn!” Rachel exclaims as she tries to avoid tripping over her own feet, because her mind is momentarily overloaded. Again, she turns to face Quinn and as she looks at her, she can’t figure out why they haven’t kissed, yet, on this date. Because that’s all she wants to do. “That was so much worse than what I said,” she whispers, trying to force the corners of her mouth down. Smiling won’t give her the stern appearance she wants, but it’s pointless. Quinn just standing there, looking at her like… like she wants her to… Rachel doesn’t even know what Quinn specifically wants, but she knows she’s willing to give in. But not now. Not on the midway. Not when she has games to win.  
  
Quinn is now fixated on the ends of a strand of Rachel’s hair that has fallen over her shoulder. She rolls it between her fingers, which in turn brush against Rachel’s collarbone, and murmurs, “It was not. Mine didn’t have anything to do with nudity.” She darts her eyes up to Rachel’s and back to what her hand is doing before she adds as a reminder, “Which isn’t permitted in your contract.”   
  
The way that Rachel affects her breathing is still a surprise, but not as much as how close she is to kissing Rachel right here in front of everyone. It’s alarming when she thinks about it, that Rachel can just make her want to throw caution to the wind like that, and she gasps lightly and pulls back before she can. “Are you going to win me that obnoxiously large stuffed animal, or not?”  
  
“I did say I was going to do that, didn’t I?” Rachel pulls her bottom lip between her teeth as she looks up at Quinn. Everything about this date is perfect, so far. She feels safe, she feels wanted, and she feels motivated to present her date with a prize.  
  
She looks past Quinn’s shoulder at the game booth, which isn’t a ring toss at all, but a game that requires players to land ping pong balls in fish bowls. “I suppose I should do that, then.” She has to release Quinn’s hand to remove two dollars from the small purse she has slung over her shoulder. The game operator passes her a basket with half a dozen balls in it, then wishes her luck.  
  
The first two are clear misses, but once Rachel finds her best angle of approach, the next three land in their respective bowls. The fourth bounces wildly, but she’s already won, so all she does it laugh as it ricochets in the wrong direction. They’re presented with one of the huge Spongebobs and a small plastic aquarium in which a goldfish swims in circles.  
  
“Oh. I guess… you also get a fish.” Rachel suddenly wonders what they’re going to do with all of their prizes while they roam the fairgrounds.  
  
“Patrick Star,” Quinn says immediately, taking the Spongebob from Rachel and shifting it under her arm. It’s truly the most enormous stuffed animal she’s ever seen, and she kind of loves it that Rachel won it for her. “This is ridiculous, by the way.” She slides her hand down Rachel’s arm and laces their fingers together once more. “Thank you for winning it for me,” she adds softly.  
  
“You deserve the biggest and the best. And the most ridiculous.” Rachel holds on to the aquarium in her free hand. “That’s a perfect name for him.”  
  
This whole idea of showering Quinn with gifts, no matter how over the top, makes Rachel feel important. She likes the sense of control it gives her, but not in a way that suggests she’s domineering. It’s an ego boost to be the one who makes Quinn feel good, even on this level. “What next?”  
  
“Clearly I deserve the most ridiculous because I’m here with you,” Quinn mumbles, but she can’t suppress her grin. This is turning into the most perfect day she’s ever had in her life, and it’s really all because of Rachel. “No one has ever won me anything before.”   
  
There are so many people and Quinn is just content to stand here in the middle of them and hold Rachel Berry’s hand, but her grin fades to a shy smile when she says, “Would you like to ride the ferris wheel next or get your cotton candy?” That idea brings with it a certain flush to her cheeks now, and she shifts the Spongebob on her hip while she waits to see what Rachel wants to do.   
  
“Can’t we do both? Cotton candy on the ferris wheel?” Rachel asks, taking a moment to look around for the nearest grouping of food vendors before tugging on Quinn’s hand and walking toward the end of the midway. “To be honest, I was a little worried that you’d think it was lame or cliche that I wanted to win you something. Someone as pretty as you probably has people giving her things, all the time.” It sounds like a line, but it’s genuinely something Rachel’s thought about Quinn.  
  
“Sure, Rach,” Quinn says, following Rachel once again. “I don’t think it’s lame; cliche, maybe. But not lame. I don’t get showered with as many gifts as you think I do, actually. Finn never even remembered my birthday, and I wasn’t with Sam long enough for him to spend money on me.”  
  
There isn’t a line at the vendor, and Quinn asks for cotton candy and hands over several neatly folded bills. When the vendor asks what color, she just looks at Rachel with her eyebrow arched. Quinn could honestly not care less what color Rachel gets; she only knows that she enjoys this dynamic they have— that Rachel can win her something one minute and Quinn can turn around and buy her something the next. All her life, she’s been in relationships that have boxed her in to very traditional roles. But right now she literally feels like she can do anything she feels like doing and it would somehow fit into whatever this is with Rachel. It makes her feel comfortable and— and free.   
  
“Pink, please,” Rachel says. “I’d rather not have a blue mouth in my headshots.” She thanks the vendor as he passes the candy to her, but now her hands are full and she can’t easily carry what she has and still hold Quinn’s hand. “And Finn would probably forget his own birthday if someone didn’t remind him.” It’s not particularly in her nature to be mean-spirited, but certain details about their mutual ex-boyfriend make Rachel wonder why she dated him for as long as she did.  
  
Quinn can’t help but laugh. “True.” She reaches over automatically and takes Patrick Star from Rachel. “Here,” she offers. “You shouldn’t have to carry my stuff like some sort of pack mule.” She shifts her weight. Honestly, this Spongebob is ridiculous. And now she’s grinning again.  
  
The line at the ferris wheel is relatively long, and normally Quinn would be counting ahead in her mind to see whether they’d make it on this shift or have to wait for the next, but right now they could stand here for a hundred turns on the ferris wheel and Quinn wouldn’t care. It turns out, Rachel Berry in a summer dress at the county fair with a bag of pink cotton candy clutched in her hand is her new favorite thing.   
  
“It’s kind of my fault that you have so much stuff,” Rachel comments as she opens the bag. The scent of the spun sugar makes her smile even more than she already is, but the taste when it hits her tongue, makes her close her eyes, even if just for a brief moment. It’s not just because it tastes good, but cotton candy is tied to a lot of good memories and now she can add one more to the list. “This is perfect.” There’s already more of the stuff pinched between her fingers, and she’s sure she could work her way through the entire bag in record time, but she’s not an animal. And she has company. “Would you like some?”  
  
Quinn crooks an eyebrow. The way that Rachel closed her eyes when she— god. Quinn and Rachel are so locked into each other right now, and Rachel’s question is more loaded than Quinn is prepared to handle. Her breathing is instantly fast and shallow again, as she glances from Rachel’s fingers to Rachel’s mouth, Rachel’s eyes, and back again. Rachel looks so beautiful— confident yet somehow eager. Her eyes are so big and full— they always are— but in this moment, Quinn is so close that she feels like she might fall in. She bites at a lip and then nods almost imperceptibly. Is this actually going to happen?   
  
Quinn’s hands are full with Spongebob and Patrick Star, so the logical thing for Rachel to do is raise her hand up to Quinn’s mouth. And even though it makes sense, it gives Rachel a rush as she waits for Quinn to open her mouth. It’s not just the act of feeding someone (although, that’s certainly something), it’s the way Quinn’s looking at her, as if she’s the only person in the entirety of the Allen County Fairgrounds.  
  
“It’s worth it, I promise.” Even Rachel isn’t sure if she’s talking about the candy, anymore.  
  
Everything is in slow motion. Quinn licks her lips. She doesn’t even care about the cotton candy. Rachel could be lifting a spoonful of tobasco sauce for Quinn to taste, and Quinn would be leaning in, letting her mouth fall open. The moment she feels Rachel’s thumb rub against her bottom lip, her eyes shut, and when her mouth closes around the cotton candy and the tip of Rachel’s thumb, she makes the oddest little sound. She can’t help but graze her teeth against Rachel’s skin and suck lightly before Rachel pulls her hand away.   
  
“Totally worth it,” she says in a low voice, as the cotton candy dissolves in her mouth.   
  
Rachel’s captivated. Quinn is already entrancing enough, with the general air of mystery that usually surrounds her. This, though, is enough to make her stammer, “I… I…”  
  
There’s no way she’s going to recall whatever it was she intended to say. Instead, she sees the woman in front of them take a step forward, which at least allows her to come up with, “I think the line’s moving.”  
  
It’s a good thing, too, because Quinn’s not sure she ever would have noticed. With the way she’s feeling, the entire fair could have shut down around her and all she would notice would be the pounding of her own heart. They are moving, slowly, as the ferris wheel is emptied and re-loaded, and the tingle in her lip where Rachel touched her still hasn’t fully faded by the time it’s their turn. The attendant lets Quinn leave Spongebob and Patrick on the platform with a promise that he’ll keep an eye on them, and then Quinn is taking Rachel’s hand and helping her into the car.   
  
Once Rachel’s seated, she waits for Quinn to settle next to her. As the attendant secures them into the car, she realizes there’s something she should have asked. “You’re okay with heights, right? I know you don’t like closed spaces… And that’s very different than this, but for all I know, you could suffer from several phobias. Though, now that I think about it, you’ve topped the Cheerio pyramid before, so please just pretend I didn’t even ask that.”  
  
She’s rambling and she knows that she could easily continue, but she stops herself with another helping of cotton candy.  
  
The ride moves slowly, and they’re more alone than they have been all day. Alone enough for Quinn to feel comfortable touching Rachel’s hair and whisper, “Hey, it’s okay, Rach. I’m fine with heights, and you’re fine with me.” They’re not quite alone enough for Quinn to feel comfortable kissing her yet, but she can’t stop herself from tracing the tip of her finger down the side of Rachel’s neck. She adds as an afterthought, “You seem nervous.”  
  
As they ascend, Rachel finds herself leaning into Quinn. “I’m not nervous. But everything feels… new… when I’m out with you.”  
  
It’s the simplest explanation she can offer, but it’s accurate.  
  
Quinn is finding it difficult to breathe, even in the fresh air. She’s so close to Rachel now, and the higher up they go, the closer she wants to be. It’s not until her nose lightly touches Rachel’s ear that she whispers, “What else do you feel, Rachel?” She hasn’t thought much further past knowing that she likes it when Rachel talks, particularly when it’s about this.   
  
She lets her fingers trace lightly over the inside of Rachel’s wrist and searches for any sign that it’s something Rachel might not want. It reminds her of the day Rachel took her to the movies- the day she’d met Quinn’s mother. Rachel had touched her wrist in the car, and it burned for an hour after. This isn’t exactly the same, so in a way she understands what Rachel means about it all feeling new.  
  
“Safe,” is the first word that comes to Rachel’s mind. Ever since that night watching Carrie, Quinn’s given her a sense of security whenever she’s around. She draws in a breath and continues with, “Wanted. I feel like you actually want to be around me. That’s not something I get from everyone. Especially not…” Her head turns to face Quinn, but they’re so close it’s impossible to actually look at her. Instead, their noses bump together. “… like this.”  
  
“You are safe,” Quinn breathes, her nose automatically grazing slightly against Rachel’s. She can’t focus. Rachel’s breath on her lips is insanely distracting, and she fights to keep her eyes open. “And…” She wets her lips. So close. “…you are wanted, Rach,” she finally says. It’s barely a whisper, but it’s there. “So much.”   
  
Her fingers are still gliding up and down Rachel’s wrist, and she leans forward so very slowly and presses her lips to Rachel’s. It’s soft and sweet, and Quinn finds herself holding back with everything she has. She wants this to mean something. She tucks her hand into Rachel’s hair and tilts her head just so and lets the warmth explode inside of her.   
  
For as much as Rachel was hoping Quinn would kiss her, here on the ferris wheel, she’s still slightly caught off guard. Maybe it’s the way Quinn kisses her, gentle and romantic and as if she’s trying to say something without words. Rachel can only assume what that would be, but she has high hopes that it’s something promising, at least in regard to the remainder of their summer.  
  
One hand still clutches the bag of cotton candy while the other braces itself on Quinn’s knee. Where her hands lack the ability to make contact, she makes up for it by kissing back, just as gently. She definitely has plenty to express to Quinn, too.  
  
Rachel tastes like sugar. Quinn usually likes the taste of Rachel’s mouth, but this is just… there aren’t any words to describe it. She pulls back with some concentration and searches Rachel’s face. “I’ve been thinking a lot about your… proposition,” she says. “And, I think… I could be interested in a summer thing. I need to be completely clear. I’m not— I can’t define anything for you, Rachel, especially since when summer is over, it’s over. But I can promise that…” Quinn clears her throat. “I won’t be seeing anyone else. Only you.”   
Rachel blinks and takes a moment to process what Quinn is saying. Three years ago, she would have wanted sweeping romance and promises of forever, but a lot had changed since then.  
  
Though, honestly, this is all incredibly romantic, already. “So, you’re saying you’re… mine… for the rest of the summer.” Rachel considers this after she says it, then nods. “I can work with that.”  
  
Quinn’s smile turns shy. It might be the fact that they’ve just entered into an agreement for the summer, and it seems moderately scandalous. Whatever the case, the way that Rachel says the word ‘mine’ sends a spark all the way down through Quinn. It’s confident and a little bit possessive, and terribly sexy. Quinn likes it on Rachel. A lot.   
  
“You can?” Quinn asks, just to be sure that they’re really going to do this. “Do we need to talk about…” She bites her lip. “…boundaries?”  
  
She was fine up until now, but that question makes her feel a little out of her depth. Maybe having this discussion at the top of a ferris wheel wasn’t the best idea Quinn has ever had.  
  
“I think,” Rachel begins, as she loops her arm through Quinn’s and tethers them together, “I would be comfortable with anything that happens as the rest of the summer progresses.” She quickly realizes that Quinn may easily still have very different standards than she does. “As long as you’re comfortable with that.”  
  
“Anything,” Quinn echoes dumbly once and then again. “Anything?” Her voice cracks, and she winces because, honestly, she’s never been this dopey in the face of a new relat— agreement. This is nothing more than an agreement. To be terminated at the end of the summer.   
  
The idea that Rachel is comfortable with anything simultaneously does things to Quinn and makes her incredibly nervous. Finally, she nods. “Okay,” she says. “Let’s just… play it by ear?”  
  
Rachel’s hand slips down to clasp, once again, with Quinn’s. “I look forward to it,” she says, voice low.  
  
There is the fact that, not for the first time in her life, she’s looking at a potential relationship that has an expiration date. But she’s going to push that aside, for now, and embrace the fact that Quinn Fabray is officially hers for the next several weeks. That, combined with the motion of the ride, leaves her stomach fluttering. Rachel leans over to rest her chin on Quinn’s shoulder, putting her mouth closer to Quinn’s ear. “And, yes. Anything.” She has no idea what that could entail or even how much they can manage before she leaves for New York, but she wants whatever Quinn has to offer.  
  
Quinn can’t help but physically react to Rachel’s promise of anything. There it is, out in the open. Rachel Berry wants her. And Quinn likes that idea.  
  
The hand in hers, the voice in her ear, the breath on her neck… it’s too much for Quinn to be able to hold back any more, and once she can open her eyes again, she’s breathing Rachel’s name like it’s the only thing keeping her alive. She surges forward, and they’re connected once more. This time, Quinn holds nothing back. She might not be able to say it out loud, but she wants Rachel to feel how ready she is for more.   
  
She pulls her hand from Rachel’s and slides it across Rachel’s lower back, grasping Rachel’s hip and pulling her into Quinn’s body as tightly as possible.   
  
When their mouths reconnect, Rachel’s approach is much different than it was only moments ago. Now that she knows Quinn is serious (at least for now), Rachel can begin to express just how much she actually wants her. Within reason of whatever is safe and acceptable in a swinging car that’s moving through the air, anyway.  
  
She shoves the bag of cotton candy between herself and the edge of the seat, because she needs both hands. One cups Quinn’s cheek while the other splays across Quinn’s stomach, trying to reach across to her side, but the kissing is distracting and her fingers end up toying with the buttons to the plaid shirt.  
  
Quinn feels Rachel playing with her shirt and it makes her shiver, even though it’s hot outside. She slides her hand up Rachel’s back so that it’s in her hair, and the other she alternates between squeezing and caressing Rachel’s knee. There’s so much passion coming from both of them that Quinn feels overwhelmed with want. She wants more kissing, more touching… she wants more Rachel.  
  
It isn’t long before she tentatively licks at Rachel’s lip. They’ve done this before, but it somehow feels better than Quinn remembers. It still tastes like cotton candy, and she can’t help the bite that follows. God, she just bit Rachel’s lip like some kind of animal. She has no idea what’s come over her, but it doesn’t really matter because the word ‘mine’ is echoing in her mind over and over. The funny thing is, it’s Rachel’s voice she hears saying it.  
  
A groan rumbles low in Rachel’s throat and she reacts to the bite by sweeping her tongue over Quinn’s. If they weren’t otherwise restrained by a safety bar, she’d likely be climbing into her date’s lap, right now.  
  
Not only is Quinn her date, she’s just plain hers. Which also means that she’s also Quinn’s… non-labeled summer romance partner. As absurd as it would sound to say it aloud, it excites her.  
  
Like before, Quinn finds that she enjoys whispering Rachel’s name against her lips. And she enjoys the way Rachel groans when her tongue circles around Quinn’s. And she really enjoys her hand on Rachel’s knee. The skin there is soft and smooth, and Quinn can feel the muscles tensing and relaxing. She tries to keep from sliding her hand all the way up and down the length of Rachel’s thigh, but it’s moving on its own. She finally forces it to stop when her fingers touch the hem of Rachel’s skirt. That’s the boundary right now, for Quinn. It’s instinctual to squeeze, and before she knows it, she’s kneading Rachel’s leg and kissing her more deeply.   
  
The hand on Rachel’s leg makes her pull back from the kiss. “Quinn,” Rachel gasps. It isn’t any kind of protest and she immediately leans back in for another kiss. Her cotton candy could be plummeting toward the ground right now and she wouldn’t notice.  
  
Rachel’s always enjoyed physical affection, but she’s never considered herself to be one to flaunt it, to make out in public like she knows Noah does with his dates of the week. She isn’t a prude, either. But being with Quinn like this just doesn’t make her forget where they are, it makes her not care. Which is probably why she’s making her very first over-the-shirt play for second while in motion on a carnival ride.  
  
It’s not that no one has ever touched Quinn where Rachel is touching her— Puck did, after all, and possibly Finn once— it’s that no one has ever touched Quinn the way that Rachel is touching her. The second she feels Rachel’s hand smooth up and give a tentative squeeze, she breaks away from Rachel’s mouth, gasps, and tosses her head back.   
  
“Oh my god,” she breathes. How can anything feel this good? It shouldn’t be possible. Feeling Rachel touch her there makes her forget everything. She rests her head on the back of the car and closes her eyes, allowing herself to just feel what’s happening to her body at Rachel’s hand. “Oh my god,” she says again.   
  
Rachel isn’t sure what that means, so she moves her hand away, not far, just not… right there. “Is that okay?” she asks, trying hard to control her breath so she isn’t panting in Quinn’s ear.  
  
Quinn forces her eyes open. Her chest is heaving, and her entire body is buzzing. She looks Rachel in the eye when she says, “more than okay.” She feels like she’s melting from the inside, out.   
  
Out of everything that’s happened during this ride, it’s the eye contact that sends Rachel’s heart racing. At least faster than it already is. Her fingers creep back upward until she’s reclaimed the position she previously had and it dawns on her that she, Rachel Berry, is feeling up Quinn Fabray in the middle of the county fair. If this is how they’re starting things off “officially” she absolutely can’t wait to find out what else they’ll be doing.  
  
She wonders how Quinn likes to be touched, not only here, but anywhere. Rachel knows what she likes for herself, but she’s also aware that everyone’s different. “Tell me if I’m… not doing it right.” Watching Quinn’s reaction to this, and based on the initial one before, Rachel realizes the appeal this action must have for the boys she’s known, because it’s the same one she’s experiencing now.  
  
It’s all Quinn can do to keep from squirming in her seat. In the back of her mind, she’s dimly aware that the ride is nearly over— they’re at the bottom again, and soon their car will be at the platform. But with what Rachel is doing to her right now, she can’t fully bring herself to care. Rachel is worried that she’s not doing it right, which just makes Quinn want to laugh because nothing has ever felt more right in her life.  
  
Rachel’s hand moves a particular way, and Quinn’s eyes roll back once again. “You are,” she chokes out, blindly grasping at Rachel. She needs her mouth before this is over.   
  
She’s not sure if she pulls Rachel to her or if it’s her that’s surging forward, but they’re kissing again. It’s never felt the way it does now, with Rachel working over her chest. She’s on fire, and she has the uncontrollable urge to pull Rachel into her lap. Damn this bar because all she wants right now is those strong, bare legs straddling her.   
  
She doesn’t even care that it’s still daylight or that they’re in public, and that’s the thought that finally forces her back, chest heaving. She brings her hand up and covers Rachel’s over her breast. “Wait,” she pants. “We need— we should be alone before we go any further.”   
  
It’s not even a question of if. She knows now that this is what she’s been missing her entire life, and all she wants in this moment is to feel Rachel’s hands all over her body. Just not on the ferris wheel at the Allen County Fair.   
  
“Okay,” Rachel nods and drags her hand, along with Quinn’s, back down toward the bar across them. “We have all summer, anyway.” She’s breathless and lightheaded, so she tips her head to rest it against Quinn’s shoulder as the ride starts and stops, letting passengers on and off. “I’ll probably never be able to ride a ferris wheel again, without thinking of… this,” she comments, laughing softly. Her head lifts back up and she kisses Quinn’s cheek. “I like that, though.”  
  
The last month has been filled with memories of Quinn and she knows there are only more to come. She set out wanting to have a summer to remember and she’s definitely getting it. The only problem is that she’s already counting down the days until it’s over and she knows it isn’t going to be enough.  
  
It’s their turn to exit the ride. As the attendant raises their safety bar, he has an amused look on his face. “Ladies. I hope you enjoyed your ride.”  
  
“Yes, very much. Thank you,” Rachel replies, remembering to grab her cotton candy before she climbs onto the platform. Spongebob and Patrick are right where they left them. “What’s next?” she asks Quinn.  
  
Rachel’s positive that whatever the answer is, it’s going to be unforgettable.


	15. Confrontation

Rachel spent most of her morning trying to keep her mind off Quinn, but even with her most rigorous workout routine, Rachel can’t stop thinking about her.   
  
Why would Quinn lie to her? Why would she be so enthusiastic about going out with Rachel and then apparently have changed her mind the next morning? Something isn’t right. Rachel’s known Quinn long enough to know that she can be hard on herself, but even this is out of character, especially now that Rachel’s gotten to know her even better over the summer.  
  
One ninety minute workout, a smoothie, and a hot shower later, Rachel’s lying on her bed, unmotivated to put on anything other than a pair of yoga pants and a tank top. She did, however, take the time to dry her hair before putting it up in a pony tail, because the shrill whine of the hair dryer commanded her attention and kept her from thinking about too much else.  
  
But now, she’s alone with her thoughts and concerns about Quinn. She picks up her phone and considers another text, but she knows it won’t do any good. Neither will a phone call, because Quinn won’t pick up.  
  
Against her better judgement, she picks up her car keys and heads downstairs. Initially, she tries to convince herself she’s going on a Starbucks run, but as she pulls up in front of Quinn’s house, she knows she never had any intent of picking up coffee.  
  
Maybe coming here is a mistake. Or maybe she’s just misunderstood something and seeing Quinn face to face will convince her that everything is actually fine, that she’s being over-dramatic.  
  
As she pushes the bell, she figures she’s about to find out.  
  
Quinn is upstairs, laying in bed, reading Delores Claiborne for the hundredth time and trying to forget her phone that’s next to her on the nightstand. Rachel’s last text sounded angry, calling Quinn out for lying to her about where she was last night, and Quinn’s reply hadn’t been much better. As much as she wants to call Rachel and apologize, tell her that she’s sorry and wrong and that everything will be okay, she can’t.   
  
She can’t stop the thoughts in her head, either. The way Rachel felt against her on the ferris wheel. The shy glances, the breathy promises between them. Everything was fine until— but now there’s only guilt. Guilt and fear and a passed-out mother the next room over that she has to look after.   
  
This was supposed to be an easy summer. She’s starting to get a headache from the tension.   
  
When the doorbell rings, she checks the time on her cell phone. It’s still early. She tries to smooth her hair back on the way down the stairs, but when she pulls the door open and sees Rachel standing on her front porch, her hand falls limply to her side.   
  
Her first thought has to do with how beautiful Rachel looks, standing in the morning sun, but she doesn’t give it enough time to materialize into anything concrete before she’s pushing it down and letting anger take it place.  
  
“Rachel, what the hell—” she hisses, gripping on to the door and blocking Rachel’s entrance with her body. All she needs is for Rachel to be in the same space as her hungover mother. “I told you I need space and your response is to drive to my house? What the hell is wrong with you?”   
  
Quinn is angry. She’s angry that Rachel is disrespecting her. She’s angry at her upbringing, at her mother, at her church. She’s angry at the whole fucking world, and it’s time Rachel was introduced to that part of her.  
  
The hope Rachel has that the weirdness between them will immediately dissipate when they see each other quickly vanishes and she’s left with Quinn glaring at her. There’s no explanation about anything, just anger in Quinn’s eyes. It makes Rachel’s stomach turn and she can already feel her own mouth turning down.  
  
This is the exact opposite of anything she felt the last time they were together.  
  
“Considering that anything you’ve said in the last forty-eight hours seems to have either changed or just been untrue, why would I assume space is something you actually wanted?” It’s childish and Rachel knows it isn’t going to help, but she can’t allow herself just to take this, whatever it is.  
  
This isn’t new to her. Jesse turned on her. Finn broke up with her twice. Kurt can still bounce between best friend and frenemy on occasion.   
  
Even with Quinn, this isn’t necessarily unfamiliar. But once they were kind of friends, they were never at odds with each other after Beth came along. Or maybe they’re on a cycle that takes a few years to turn back around. If that’s the case, the timing is incredibly unfortunate.  
  
“You have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, Rachel,” Quinn snaps and adjusts her grip on the door. One part of Quinn has an almost unbearable urge to wrap Rachel up and whisper soothing words in her ear— it’s the same part of her that somehow found a way to have Rachel on her radar in high school, even though the feelings themselves didn’t come until later. But right now, with the anger in Rachel’s eyes, Quinn stands her ground. “I asked you several times for space, and you pushed me until I told you to give it to me. And your response to that? To get in your car and corner me in my own house? It’s unacceptable, and now we’re so far past me just needing space, I can’t even tell you. So I’m telling you right now, turn around, get into your car, and leave me the hell alone. Is that truthful enough for you?”   
  
“No, my response to it was to try and give you what you wanted and to do everything but think about you all morning, but I…” Rachel should just turn and walk away, she should just give Quinn her space and hope this evens out. She doesn’t even care that Quinn might want time alone, she can understand that. But it’s everything surrounding the request that’s making her skin crawl. She draws in a breath and pushes it out, keeping herself steady. “I’m not trying to make you mad, Quinn, I’m just trying to understand what happened between now and two nights ago that would… lead to this.”  
  
Quinn is always ready for a good fight. It’s something that comes naturally to her, playing defense, finding the chink in her opponent’s armor. And for as far back as she can remember, ever since she transferred to McKinley, Rachel has been her number one opponent. They’ve always had this push and pull, and Quinn has always risen to the occasion. But now, with Rachel searching her face like she’s going to find exactly what went wrong laid out for her in Quinn’s features, Quinn just— she deflates a little.   
  
“Forget it,” she says. “It’s not your problem. I can handle it.” She knows that she still sounds angry. She still feels angry, but she also doesn’t want to make Rachel feel worse. This isn’t her fault. “Please just go home.”  
  
She doesn’t wait for Rachel’s answer. She just steps back and starts to push the door closed.   
  
Space is one thing, having a door shut in her face is another. Rachel takes a step into the doorway, just so she’s in the way. Quinn’s not slamming it or anything, so there’s no immediate danger of being injured. Not physically.  
  
“You can’t take on everything by yourself, Quinn,” she says, her hand pressing against the door. Once it’s stopped swinging shut, she lowers her arm but still stands her ground. “I’m… I’m not trying to corner you. And if you really want me to go, then I will. But, whatever this is… talk to me about it. Don’t just shut me out.”  
  
Quinn is torn. On one hand, here is Rachel, begging Quinn to let her in and confide in her. Quinn does feel a genuine affection for her, and she wants to give Rachel what she’s asking for. On the other, she just can’t, no matter how much she wants to.   
  
“Rachel, this stuff might be easy for you, but I can’t just talk about it. It doesn’t work that way.”   
  
She’s tired of this fight to be happy.  
  
“You think it’s easy for me? For me to come over here and have to ask you why you apparently don’t want to see me after everything that happened the other night?” Rachel crosses her arms over her chest and braces her footing. She’s not letting Quinn shove her away. A thought crosses her mind and it hits her so suddenly that she’s unable to stop it from slipping out her mouth. “What if we had gone even further than we did? And then you did this? Is that all this was for you? See how far you can go with me before you can’t take it, anymore?”  
  
Quinn feels like the wind has been knocked out of her. She wants to double over and brace herself until she can get the air to wheeze back into her lungs. Instead, she forces herself to look Rachel in the eye. “How can you even say that?” she finally spits. She’s full of venom, and she hopes it’s enough to cover the pain she’s feeling right now. She hasn’t been this hurt since Finn called her a robot and broke up with her at Coach’s sister’s funeral. “I know that I’ve been a complete bitch to you in the past, but you said that you’ve forgiven me for that. You promised that you don’t think about me that way anymore, but for you to stand here and accuse me of— my god, Rachel. I’m not spending time with you to fucking set you up. It’s not like I see you as some conquest that—”   
  
Quinn clenches her hands into fists. Awesome. Here come the tears. She tries her best to blink them back. “My pastor’s wife saw us, Rachel. On the ferris wheel. She and her seven year old son were standing in line, and they saw everything. She called me last night to tell me how concerned she is for my soul because people who do what I did on the ferris wheel are doomed to an eternity in hell.” She swallows, hard, and her tears are lodged in her throat. “So forgive me if I can’t just—” She knows that her voice has escalated. In the back of her mind, she’s concerned that she might wake her mother and then there will be that to deal with, too. The tears finally break free, and she chokes, gasps, and then she’s fighting once again to control her voice. She will not completely break down in front of Rachel Berry. Feeling Quinn up at a county fair does not give her that right. There’s so much bearing down on her that what escapes her mouth is an anguished, “Jesus, Rachel!”   
  
She can’t believe that Rachel’s first instinct is to accuse her of using her. Maybe they haven’t come as far as she thought they had. The idea that Rachel thinks so little of her makes her want to shut herself in her room and not come out until Rachel has left for New York.  
  
It’s as if Rachel’s physically knocked backward by Quinn’s words as her back hits the door frame.  
  
“I didn’t… I…” There’s nothing she can say to what she’s just been told. She would much rather hear that Quinn had reverted to being her old self than listen to someone who sounds so beaten down, someone who’s expected to believe the kinds of things Quinn is now repeating.  
  
Rachel’s entire home life experience has been one of support and reassurance, where she’s always been reminded that she will be loved and welcomed. Seeing Quinn this upset over something Rachel knows she will personally never have to experience has her fighting back tears of her own.  
  
“I’m so sorry, Quinn,” she mumbles, looking anywhere but actually at Quinn.  
  
Quinn wraps her arms protectively around herself, but she manages to keep her head held high. “Yeah, well,” she mumbles. “Now that I know what you really think of me…”   
  
She can’t bring herself to say anything more. This fucking hurts.  
  
“That’s not what I think of you.” Rachel feels so terrible, she’s actually sick to her stomach. She knows there’s nothing she can say, right now, but that doesn’t stop her from trying to explain herself. “I just didn’t understand why… I’m sorry,” she repeats. “I’ll go.”  
  
Quinn simultaneously raises her hand and her eyebrow and if to motion ‘go ahead and go’ and issue a challenge at the same time.   
  
If Rachel wants to leave, she sure as hell won’t stop her. Not today.  
  
Rachel pulls her arms more tightly around herself before she moves out of the doorway, then turns to walk back to her car. She manages to get halfway home before she starts crying so hard that she has to pull over.


	16. Tell Me About... Rachel

Dr. Radcliffe’s office never makes Quinn feel a particular way. She supposes that it’s meant to, with it’s diplomas framed on one wall and it’s vintage Mexican lobby cards for American films on the other and bookshelves lined with books that ought to somehow help her learn how to become a human being with real feelings and everything. She’s been coming here once a week for a long time; it’s comfortable enough, she guesses, but that doesn’t make it any easier for her to just split open her chest and let Dr. Radcliffe dig around inside and pull out whatever she wants to talk about.   
  
This is one of the hardest things she’s ever done, committing to this week after week. It only seems to get harder, and it never hurts any less.   
  
Dr. Radcliffe has a couch, but Quinn never uses it. Instead, she sits in the soft leather chair and tries her hardest not to run for the door.   
  
Today is no different. She sits very still and looks Dr. Radcliffe in the face, unwavering, just as she does every week. She doesn’t like to speak first. It seems weak, somehow, like she can’t control her own emotions. And Quinn Fabray is anything but weak.   
  
Carolyn Radcliffe has been seeing Quinn regularly since Beth was still in utero, so she’s already familiar with plenty of facts about Quinn Fabray. Judging from Quinn’s posture and the way her eyes keep moving toward the door, Carolyn assumes it hasn’t been an easy week for Quinn. But, it’s up to Quinn to tell her that. And the only way to find out is to ask.  
  
“So, how was this week?”  
  
Quinn rolls her eyes. She can’t help it; it’s a natural as breathing. This has been one of the worst weeks since she started seeing Dr. Radcliffe, and considering her history, that’s saying something.   
  
“Peachy.”   
  
There’s no need to sugar coat anything in this office, and Quinn allows her sarcasm to seep through. She’s wearing shorts today, and she picks mindlessly at the hem and crosses and uncrosses her legs.  
  
Quinn is unlike a lot of people Carolyn knows, both as clients and as peers. She’s intelligent, guarded and clever, but she’s also very typically eighteen and that’s something that bleeds through, from time to time.   
  
“Last time we spoke, you were planning a trip to the county fair and…” She consults her notes. She tries to remember as much as she can so she doesn’t have to, but it isn’t always possible. “You were hoping to take some headshots? Why don’t you tell me more about that?”  
  
Quinn flinches involuntarily. Can she really be expected to just talk about any of this like it’s not the single most frightening thing in the world? If she talks about what happened, if she actually says the words out loud, she might make everything worse. She’ll certainly be admitting her guilt.   
  
She decides to keep it relatively safe. “I never gave them to her,” she says, staring at a poster that promises thrills from El Fantasma de las 10,000 Leguas. “I never got the chance.”  
  
Two brief sentences about the photos, nothing about the fair, itself. Carolyn taps her pen against her notepad a couple times, then asks, “How are things with your mom?”  
  
“My mother is the same. She was drunk all of last weekend and spent most of the time passed out in her room. Mother of the year, as usual.” Quinn hates it that she sounds so bitter. She used to be cheerful. Happy. Her only problems were fitting into her spring formal every year and winning cheerleading competitions. Though, there was something earlier this week— it might be nothing, but she’s so sick of feeling like everything is crumbling around her. “She— she made dinner on Tuesday. She actually cooked real food, enough for both of us. That’s something.”  
  
“What did she make?” Carolyn can see by Quinn’s facial expression that it seems like an irrelevant question. “Was it something new or something she used to make when you were younger?”  
  
Quinn shrugs. “Does it matter? It wasn’t a magical pot of chili. It didn’t bring her back.”   
  
Talking about her mother is a waste of time. It always has been. It’s not going to change; she’s still going to miss Russell, still going to act like leaving him was a horrible decision. It doesn’t matter.   
  
“It seems to matter enough that you brought it up,” Carolyn points out. “Was she sober for the meal?”  
  
“I was just trying to be positive,” Quinn mumbles. “Isn’t that something therapists are always telling their patients? To think positively?” She flips her cell phone in her hands. It’s something she’s taken to, playing with it during her session. “She was. Sober, I mean. It was awkward. I didn’t see her until the weekend— she came home late and then when Rachel came by in the morning, I was afraid that—” Quinn bites her lip. “Rachel has met her once already, and it’s not something I’m eager to repeat.”   
  
“Positivity is appreciated, yes. But I mostly prefer honesty.” There’s a brief silence as Carolyn considers what Quinn has just told her. “Why are you so concerned about Rachel interacting with your mother?”  
  
There’s obviously a reason that Dr. Radcliffe is asking about this, and Quinn pauses to think. She has no idea how to talk about Rachel. It’s not that she doesn’t want to. It’s actually killing her that she can’t. She understands why it’s hard to discuss her developing feelings for Rachel, or even Rachel herself, because then she’ll be forced to discuss her own life and how Rachel fits into it.   
  
But why is she so concerned about how Rachel perceives her mother? “I think,” she says slowly, “I don’t want Rachel to see… what I come from.”  
  
“But Rachel’s known you for years, correct?”  
  
Quinn laughs, but it’s not really a laugh. It’s more like… a sound. “Your point?” She lifts an eyebrow as if to say ‘do people who have known me for years know anything about me?’  
  
“My point is that this is someone who has been, at the very least, on the periphery of your life for a while and from the few things you actually have told me about her, she seems to express interest in your well being.” There’s no need for Carolyn to consult her notes on this one. It’s not that Quinn says much about Rachel, but the few times she has come up have been during various points of importance in Quinn’s life: Her pregnancy, the prom, and now this summer.  
  
“Rachel seems very… self-involved, but she’s—” Quinn thinks again. She needs to be careful. “She can actually be very selfless.”   
  
“So, isn’t it possible that she’d possibly be understanding in regard to your family situation?”  
  
And just like that, Quinn deflates. She’s been beaten, and she can’t keep this up anymore, this facade. She can’t always be a wall. She lets her gaze drop for the first time today.   
  
“It’s possible,” she says, staring at her shoes.   
  
“You’ve been spending a lot more time with her than you used to, yes?” Carolyn’s voice is firm, but not accusatory. The frequency of Quinn’s interactions with Rachel have increased dramatically over the last few weeks and they haven’t discussed her much, primarily because Quinn won’t talk much about her.  
  
Quinn’s eyes shoot up. “And? You’ve been encouraging me to make friends for as long as I’ve been coming here.” She shrugs. “With Rachel, it’s easy. She does most of the work.”  
  
“I have.” Carolyn chuckles slightly at Quinn’s response, then clears her throat. “You’re right. And I’m pleased to see that you’re making progress in that area. I’m curious to know what you mean when you say she does most of the work.”  
  
“God, I don’t know. She’s— she makes it easy. She’s always kind of chased after me for some level of friendship, and I just kind of stopped getting in the way.”  
  
This is getting too close to home, and it’s suddenly boiling in Dr. Radcliffe’s office. She glances at the door.   
  
“Why does talking about Rachel make you uncomfortable?”  
  
“Stop it,” Quinn whispers, looking down again.   
  
“Quinn, you don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to, but you keep coming to see me every week for a reason. That reason is to get you to understand yourself. If you feel like talking about Rachel isn’t going to accomplish that, then we’ll talk about something else.”  
  
“We’ve been—” She takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and holds her head high. If she’s going down, she’s going down in control of herself. She takes just a moment to gather her thoughts and then finishes without so much as a waver in her voice, “kissing.” It’s all she can do not to lift an eyebrow in defiance, but she does add, “a lot,” just to make sure there’s no confusion.   
  
Quinn isn’t stupid. She’s sure that Dr. Radcliffe has several ideas and conclusions in her head that Quinn hasn’t heard, and this news might not even be a surprise to her, but it’s definitely a game changer. She feels like she’s standing before a firing squad, but she’s been under fire before and she’s been just fine. She can’t take it back now, at any rate.   
  
This is something of a breakthrough, especially for someone like Quinn. Carolyn isn’t shocked by the revelation, though she is a little surprised that Quinn so clearly revealed this detail about her life. “When that happens… the kissing… how do you feel?”  
  
She can’t help that her mouth drops open. She’s expected to talk about specifics? “I don’t—” She recovers enough to frown. “I’m not—” The thought of sharing details about what she and Rachel do together— have done, she mentally corrects— makes her bristle.   
  
“I obviously don’t hate it, since I keep allowing it to happen,” she finally says dryly. She omits the fact that a lot of time, she’s the one that instigates their physical affection.   
  
Carolyn nods. “Okay. So, would you say that this interaction makes you feel good?”  
  
She puts every available ounce of I hate you into the glare she shoots across the office. “Yes, Carolyn,” she bites out. “I would say that kissing Rachel Berry makes me feel good.”   
  
She could fucking murder someone right now, the way she’s feeling.   
  
“Am I upsetting you by asking about her?” Carolyn already knows the answer to this.  
  
“Fuck you.”  
  
She can feel her mask slipping back into place. Serves her right for even trying to let down her walls. It’s not like talking about how she and Rachel have been spending their time together is going to solve any of her problems.   
  
“You know there’s no judgement in here,” Carolyn reminds her. “Does it bother you that being with Rachel makes you feel good?”  
  
Does it? It bothers her to talk about it, yes. And it bothers her what she’s heard other people say about what it must mean about both of them, absolutely. But does it really truly weigh on her, knowing how it makes her feel when Rachel is sighing against her and asking for more?   
  
She’s kind of shocked to find out that it doesn’t. In fact, if she’s honest, when she allows herself to remember laying on the quilt with Rachel pressed against her or how Rachel’s hands felt on her body when they rode the ferris wheel, it’s not a negative feeling that she experiences at all. It’s—   
  
She has to close her eyes for a second to compose herself. She knows that her breathing has increased, and she’s sure that Dr. Radcliffe would notice that type of reaction. Remembering her time with Rachel doesn’t bother her at all. It turns her on.   
  
“No,” she finally says, and that will have to be good enough because she doesn’t trust her own voice for more than that right now.   
  
Quinn’s reaction certainly doesn’t go unnoticed and Carolyn casually makes a note that this is something to explore, but for now, she isn’t going to push too hard. “But you don’t feel comfortable talking about it.” It isn’t even a question. She opts to give Quinn a break and switch topics to something that’s generally more welcome. “How’s Beth?”  
  
The smile that tugs at Quinn’s mouth when Dr. Radcliffe mentions Beth is unavoidable. She can see that angelic face right now like she’s holding her on her lap instead of just remembering her. “Shelby emailed me a picture. I can’t believe how big she’s getting.” Her voice turns dark, her smile a little sadder. “I’m still not allowed to see her, but I’m writing every week.”  
  
“Do you at least feel that you’re making progress with Shelby?” Carolyn’s aware of the tie between Rachel, Shelby, Beth, and Quinn. It’s certainly an unusual situation. Though, from what she can tell, Quinn’s apparent attraction to Rachel is coincidental to the rest of it, at most.  
  
“Shelby has made it very clear that the only reason we’re even still in contact is for Beth to be able to choose someday if she would like to meet her birth mother. As far as I know, Shelby is done with me personally, and with the way that she behaves toward Rachel, she’s not my favorite person either.”  
  
There’s a bottle of water on the table beside her. Dr. Radcliffe has offered one every single time she’s come in for a session, and this is the first time in nearly three years that she’s twisted open the cap and taken a drink. For some reason, this session feels harder, almost like a Cheerios practice, and she knows that the water at this point is just a comfort thing, but she doesn’t care anymore.   
  
“Kristine— my pastor’s wife— saw us when we were at the fair,” she mutters darkly. She would rather take a hot poker to the face than talk about this, but it’s been eating at her for a solid week now, and she feels like if she doesn’t get some relief, she’s going to scream. “She called me to tell me that even though I don’t go to their church anymore, she’s praying for my soul.”   
  
Carolyn is entirely prepared to ask for more expansion on Quinn’s concern about Shelby’s treatment of Rachel when Quinn boomerangs back to their previous topic. “Your pastor’s wife saw you with… Rachel?” She doesn’t want to assume, but with the mention of souls and prayer, she puts together that this must not be about the headshots. “Were you kissing?”  
  
Quinn barks out a harsh laugh. “You could say that.” She takes another drink, twists the cap back on, sets the bottle down on the table. She’s stalling. How do you admit out loud that you were basically moaning another girl’s name in public while she groped your chest? “We were… very involved,” she finally says.  
  
“Are you generally affectionate in public with Rachel?” Being that this is the first time Carolyn’s heard Quinn talk about this aspect of her relationship with Rachel, she’s surprised to learn that this much has happened, already. But then, it seems that Quinn’s been keeping this part of her life to herself up until now. This is typical of Quinn, to push things below the surface until there’s no stopping them from breaking through.  
  
“We’re hardly ever even in public! It’s not like we’re dating. We’re barely even friends.” She leaves her cell phone in her lap and folds her arms across her chest. She knows it’s a defensive posture, but she doesn’t care. Whatever she needs to do to get through this.   
  
“Are those things you want? Friendship and the possibility of a relationship?” Carolyn asks. There’s always the risk that Quinn will shut down, but that’s why they do this on a weekly basis.  
  
Quinn tightens her arms. “It doesn’t matter what I want. She’s leaving in a few weeks for New York. To say nothing of the confusion I feel over the things that Kristine said.”  
  
She feels like crying, but she doesn’t dare. Once that dam bursts, she's not sure if she’ll be able to repair it again.  
  
“If you no longer attend church, why do you feel Kristine’s comments are relevant to your life?” Carolyn asks.  
  
Quinn can feel her eyes widen involuntarily. “Really? Are you suggesting that a person has to attend a church in order to maintain her faith?”   
  
“I’m not suggesting anything. Do you believe what Kristine says is true? That she should be praying for your soul?” Carolyn still isn’t fully clear on what exactly occurred at the fair that was witnessed by this woman, but she’s hoping to get Quinn to open up enough to talk more about it.  
  
“I’m not… sure,” Quinn says slowly. “It would be much easier if I didn’t have feelings that were condemned by a religion I was raised in for most of my life.”   
  
“Are these feelings exclusive to Rachel?”  
  
“You’re asking me if I’m attracted to girls.” It’s not a question. It’s not a question because Quinn doesn’t need clarification. This is happening. Dr. Radcliffe is asking Quinn if she’s— She can’t. She just can’t. “I don’t know.” God, it sounds so defeated, even to her. How is this her life?  
  
She feels sick to her stomach.   
  
“Quinn.” Carolyn avoids using her ‘therapist’ tone and leans forward, resting her arms on her notepad. “You don’t have to label it, I just want you to be honest with yourself. And you’ve already told me that Rachel makes you feel good when you’re together. I want to know what that means to you and how that translates to your faith. I know it’s a lot to process and maybe you don’t have all the answers now, and that’s okay.”  
  
“Why should I be expected to take such a big risk with this if she’s leaving?” The tears are working their way to the surface. They’re nowhere near her eyes yet, but she can hear them in her own voice, and it’s only a matter of time.   
  
Her arms are still wrapped tightly around herself, and she leans forward until she feels like she can breathe a little.   
  
There’s a sense of being very close to something, but it’s difficult to tell with Quinn. Sometimes she breaks, sometimes she pushes back and puts up thicker walls than before. “What do you think that risk is?”  
  
She laughs again, harsh, sterile. “I’m supposed to sit here and admit that I’m— that I like girls, or a girl, whatever, and go against everything I’ve ever been taught, for what? A few weeks? She actually—” Quinn takes another deep breath because she’s one step away from hysterical, and that’s going to help no one. “She accused me of trying to see how far I could get her to go. She has no idea how much— this isn’t just nothing to me. It’s a big deal, and I’m nearly as scared as I was when I found out I was pregnant. Maybe more, I don’t know.”   
  
“So,” Carolyn leans back in her chair, “you’re scared because this means something to you, but it isn’t worth any further investigation because she’ll be leaving for college in a few weeks? And you assume that would be the end of it?” There is a detail that Quinn has just mentioned that interests her. “Why would she accuse you of… what was it, again?”  
  
“Her exact words were ‘Is that all this was for you? See how far you can go with me before you can’t take it anymore?’” Quinn says bitterly. “How was I supposed to take that?”  
  
“What occurred before this happened? Were you already involved in a conversation or did she just open with it?”  
  
“Kristine happened. And I freaked out and started ignoring Rachel. I asked her to give me some space, and she came to my house.” She doesn’t feel quite so panicked now, and she sits back and drops her arms. “It was not a very good conversation all around, but that really hurt, that she could even think I’m still capable of treating her with such little regard. I mean, I never even let Finn just feel me up whenever he wanted to, and we dated for years.”   
  
“I’m not suggesting that what she said was correct, but is Rachel the type of person to say something without feeling provoked?” Quinn’s revealing a lot, especially for a single session, and Carolyn’s doing her best to keep up with the momentum. “What would you say was the… status of your relationship with her up until that point? And why do you feel it’s necessary to bring up Finn’s actions?”  
  
Quinn rolls her eyes. “Rachel Berry is the type of person to always have something to say about how she’s feeling whether it’s provoked or not.” The next question is more difficult to navigate. “As for our relationship, we were friends, I guess. We were both open to more physically, but I wasn’t ready for any type of definition, and she agreed that since she’s leaving soon, we should just keep things casual.” She chews her lip. “I brought up Finn for the sake of comparison because I was with him the longest, and I feel like our relationship meant the most. My point was that it takes a certain level of commitment for me to get close to anyone physically, especially after what happened with Puck. It’s like she doesn’t see that I’m not the same girl, and after everything between us, that… hurts.”   
  
“You were prepared to be physical with Rachel until you were confronted by Kristine,” the review is as much for Carolyn as it is for Quinn. “But now you’re feeling conflicted because of your faith and that’s created friction between you and Rachel. Do you think she meant what she said? Do you believe she would allow herself to be close to you if she really believed you haven’t made significant growth from who you were three years ago? Or, is it possible that she was also feeling confused and hurt by someone she was close to?”  
  
Quinn sets her jaw. The tears are at her eyes now, but she’s managing to keep them from spilling over. Dr. Radcliffe might as well have called her a coward.   
  
“I’ve seen Rachel fall in love with someone ten years her senior just because he sang a duet with her, so who knows what she was feeling.” And then, more quietly, “She looked legitimately disgusted. She meant it.”  
  
“You said you began ignoring her and then you asked her for space before this… conversation. Was your trip to the fair cut short by the phone call from Kristine or did it come later? If you can, I’d like you to give me a timeline.”  
  
“No, I— we finished our… date,” Quinn glances at Dr. Radcliffe apprehensively, but when no reaction is forthcoming, she forges ahead. “I took Rachel home and—” she blushes— “kissed her goodnight at her door. We had a really good day after that, texting back and forth. It was… good. I’m sorry,” she mumbles, “I have no idea how to talk about this.”   
  
She takes a minute to think how best to continue. “That night, Kristine called me, and our conversation mostly consisted of her quoting scripture and telling me that I still have a chance at God’s grace.” Her cheeks are burning now, and first one tear and then another spill over. “The next day, I was very short with Rachel. I was a bitch to her, really. She didn’t deserve that. But then she accosted me at my house, and— I’d really rather not rehash the entire conversation. We both said some harsh things, and Rachel left.” The tears are streaming down her face now, but at least her voice is completely solid. Strong, even. “She emailed me some churches to look into and then said that she thought it would be easier if we were just friends. I haven’t seen her, and we barely communicate now.”   
  
She wipes at her eyes. “Is that enough of a timeline for you?”  
  
“Yes, thank you.” There’s a box of tissues already perched at the edge of Carolyn’s desk, but she reaches over to nudge it even closer to Quinn. “I realize this doesn’t come easily for you and I appreciate that you’ve been willing to tell me as much as you have today.” She sets her pen down and folds her hands in front of her. “It sounds to me like you’re interested in exploring things with Rachel, but you feel that it’s pointless because she’s bound for New York. You’re also hurt by what she said to you and unsure about how to proceed with anything because of that, along with being confronted by your former pastor’s wife. Do you feel that’s at all accurate?”  
  
Quinn dabs at her eyes with a tissue and nods. It’s completely accurate. The thing in Dr. Radcliffe’s summary that scares her the most is ‘you’re interested in exploring things with Rachel,’ mostly because it’s true. She is. She’d physically felt ill when she’d gotten Rachel’s email about just being friends. “It’s accurate,” she finally acknowledges.   
  
“Do you think she’d respond positively if you wanted to talk? As friends?”  
  
The hand with the tissue falls limply to her lap. “I don’t know if I can,” she says in the most quiet voice yet. “Every time I’m around her, I—” She can’t bring herself to actually say that she can’t help but want to kiss Rachel, to touch Rachel, to hold Rachel every time they’re together. It’s a drive so strong that she’s certain that it would be impossible to be friends with her without being able to act on it. Maybe if she tried before their agreement, but now? No.  
  
She looks helplessly at Dr. Radcliffe and hopes that her reaction and the blush that comes with it are enough for Dr. Radcliffe to understand.   
  
Carolyn understands. However, “That wasn’t my question.”  
  
“I hate you,” Quinn mumbles and wipes her eyes again even though they’ve been dry for a while. “Probably. She’s like a Weeble. It’s seriously impossible to keep her down. Believe me, if there’s anyone who’s tried, it’s me.”   
  
Quinn’s mumbled statement of hatred is ignored and Carolyn backtracks. “Do you feel it would be difficult to be friends with Rachel because of your feelings? And yet, you’ve also allowed someone else dictate that those feelings are irrelevant if you choose to hold on to your faith. You’re dealing with some conflicting ideas, here.” She decides to give Quinn a bit of a break. “Which of those are you more comfortable discussing, right now?”  
  
“That’s like asking if I would rather be shot or stabbed,” Quinn says. “I can’t help how I feel, but I don’t have to do anything about it. Of course, if that’s the case, what am I supposed to do, tell Rachel to take a hike?” She blows some air up at her bangs. Both of these topics scare the hell out of Quinn, so she chooses the one that puts her least on the spot. “Since you’re giving me a choice, I’d rather not talk about my feelings any more right now.”  
  
Carolyn smiles a little in amusement when Quinn states her feelings on her options. It’s a fair assessment. Therapy certainly isn’t easy. “Okay. When was the last time you actually attended church?”  
  
“I went a few times after Sam moved away, but then I had my… identity crisis. I haven’t been back.”   
  
“And even though you don’t attend, you still identify as…?” Carolyn waits for Quinn to fill in the blank on her own.  
  
“Lutheran.”  
  
“And what are your views on homosexuality, in general?” Carolyn already knows that Quinn’s best friend is a lesbian, but she wants to walk through this, step-by-step.  
  
“I’m not sure,” Quinn answers slowly. “I know what I’ve been taught, but it’s always kind of been this nebulous idea that hasn’t directly affected me— until recently. I haven’t really been able to reconcile the idea that it’s sin with what I know about specific people.”   
  
“So, as someone who still embraces her faith, you haven’t yet felt compelled to pray for the souls of your gay friends?”  
  
Quinn’s lips purse automatically. “Well, I…” There was a time when that answer would have been unequivocally yes. “Not anymore, no.”   
  
She’s uncomfortable with this line of questioning to say the least, and she thinks at this point it would have been easier for her to talk about how being with Rachel makes her feel.   
  
“What changed?”  
  
She has to think about this one. What did change? Finally, she comes up with, “Well… San. And Britt. Kurt, Rachel’s dads.” These are people she knows, not some kind of statistic. Homosexuals undercover in small town Ohio. That makes a huge difference. She shrugs. “I got pregnant.”   
  
She’s really not sure why that has so much bearing on her paradigm now, but really that was a pivotal moment in her life and a lot of things changed at that point. It’s one of those moments that shapes the person you grow into.   
  
“So, personal experience changed your perspective?” Carolyn makes a small note, then continues. “You said Rachel emailed you with some church suggestions. Can you tell me why?”  
  
“I guess so,” Quinn says in a way that’s clear she’s not really committing. After all, what good is a belief system if you’re just going to adjust it anytime something changes in your life? “She was just trying to be helpful, I’d imagine. Why?”  
  
“From what I know about her, she isn’t Lutheran, so I’m curious as to why she’d feel compelled to pass along church information to you.”  
  
“No idea,” Quinn murmurs. She fiddles with the water bottle, takes another sip of water. This feels like the calm before the storm, for some reason, and she’s so exhausted from today’s session that she knows the second she gets home, she’ll burst into tears just from the stress. But for now, she prepares herself for what’s still to come.   
  
“If you hadn’t been confronted by Kristine, how do you think things would have progressed with Rachel?” It’s mildly on topic and this is the heart of the exploration that Quinn needs to make.  
  
That sip of water goes down the wrong pipe and suddenly Quinn is sputtering and coughing. She always feels vulnerable when she’s sitting in this chair, but this is definitely not her finest moment. Once she’s recovered, she stares at Dr. Radcliffe for a beat longer than necessary.   
  
“I think…” Well, here it is. There’s really no reason to avoid this any longer. She knows it. She’s fairly sure that Dr. Radcliffe knows it, too. Still, she wants to navigate these waters as delicately as possible. “I think that neither of us have many boundaries when we’re together. It’s easy to get… carried away.”   
  
“Why do you feel it’s so easy for that to happen with Rachel? You said it takes a lot for you to reach that comfort level with others.”  
  
The only word in Quinn’s head right now is no. She feels like she’s about to go over a waterfall. She’s barely treading the surface and everything is rushing and roaring and soon she’ll go over the edge, and there’ll be nothing she can do about it.   
  
She has two options in this moment. She can get royally pissed and throw a typical Quinn Fabray fit. Dr. Radcliffe is used to those and generally just sits and waits patiently until it’s over. Sometimes Quinn will get the ‘are you done?’ look, but it’s mostly just the waiting, and then she has to answer the question anyway. The other option is to admit defeat. She slumps.   
  
“I have no idea.” She sounds like she’s lost. “With Rachel, it’s different. I just can’t not.”   
  
Carolyn considers all she’s heard during this session, then after a moment, she asks, “Which scenario upsets you more, Quinn? You getting close to Rachel for a few weeks only to have her head off to college? Or you and Rachel maintaining a loose friendship and never getting a chance to move past that?”  
  
It’s too much. Considering the entire hour that Quinn has been under fire from every possible angle, it’s just too fucking much, and she covers her face with her hands. Both options make her feel sick. She’s going to cry again, at the very least.  
  
“Please don’t make me do this.”   
  
“Quinn,” Carolyn says, her tone suddenly soothing. “You’ve made a lot of great progress today and we’re almost done. I just want you to think about this, because I think your answer, whatever it is, will help you figure out what’s next, okay?”  
  
Hands still covering her face, she’s crying again. Coach would be so disappointed in this type of weak behavior, but fuck if Carolyn’s dilemma isn’t painful beyond belief, and god, she just can’t anymore. “The thought of never getting to see if we could—” She chokes it back, shakes her head. Goddamn Carolyn Radcliffe and her fucking scenarios. “The second one,” she finally gets out, and it’s all she can do. Dr. Radcliffe can’t expect anymore of her today. She can’t.   
  
“Okay.” Carolyn’s also growing a little exhausted from this session. “It’s good that you can recognize that. What I want you to do… not now, just during the week, is think about how that relates to everything else. Your faith, your own ideas about your future, and what you want out of the rest of this summer. And, Quinn, it’s perfectly acceptable for you to want things for yourself.”  
  
Quinn cries all the way home, and when she gets there, it’s the first time in weeks she doesn’t head straight for her mother’s room to check on her. Sometimes, it’s Quinn who’s broken; it’s Quinn who needs to be checked on.   
  
She locks the door, collapses on her bed, and cries herself to sleep even though it’s only four o’clock in the afternoon.


	17. How to Survive the Zombie Apocalypse

They’re sitting at opposite ends of the couch. There is no popcorn this time, nothing Quinn can hide behind. Just her, Rachel, and the knowledge that the last time they saw each other, Quinn tried to shut the door in Rachel’s face and Rachel accused Quinn of taking advantage of her physically for sport.   
  
It’s worse than the night they watched Carrie because there’s a palpable distance that Quinn can feel. She’s hyper-aware of Rachel’s movements, of the way the hem of her skirt has fallen across her thighs. She’s occupied with trying to keep the door open on friendship, while making the connections that Dr. Radcliffe asked her to make in their last therapy session and keep herself from sliding across the couch and slipping her arm around Rachel’s shoulders. It’s a lot to think about all at once, and it’s a shame because Zombieland is one of Quinn’s favorite movies, and she’s going to miss it completely.   
  
She feels like she needs to say something. She’s a guest in Rachel’s house, after all, and they’ve barely said two words to each other so far. As the movie starts, Quinn tries to appear relaxed and then says, “This is a good one for you. It’ll show you the basics of zombie survival without being too gross or scary.”   
  
Rachel nods and does her best I find a comfortable position that doesn’t involve wrapping herself around Quinn. She’s determined to make his work, to prove that they can be friends, that she can be around Quinn without making things awkward.  
  
“I prepared myself by looking up some of the movie images online, so I’d know what to expect.”  
  
Quinn rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Of course you did.” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “If you can make it through the first ten minutes, you’ll be fine.”   
  
She can’t help but wish that Rachel would curl into her so that she as least has the option of hiding her face like she did last time, but that’s not in the cards this time around. She fidgets with her phone in her lap until it reminds her of Dr. Radcliffe, and she stops. This is going to be such a long night.  
  
There’s silence between them as the beginning of the movie plays out. Rachel does her best to stay strong and not freak out, and she manages once she grabs a throw pillow and wraps her arms around it. The movie is more gore and suspense than it is creepy, so she may jump while watching it, but she doesn’t think it will linger with her too much afterward.  
  
“How was your week?” she asks, quietly.   
  
It’s officially killing Quinn now that Rachel just wants to be friends. There’s a point whenever they spend time together that Quinn seems to forget whatever inner struggle she’s facing and just be with Rachel, and she’s way past that point now. She doesn’t really know what she wants, she just knows that whatever it is, it involves wrapping her arms around that jumpy little frame.   
  
Rachel’s question provides some much needed clarity. “It was… kind of tough, Rachel. But I’m fine, I promise. Are you— how was yours?”   
  
“Long,” Rachel admits. She flinches at a bit of brutal zombie action and ducks a little behind her pillow. “I’m glad you’re okay, though.”  
  
“Long?” Quinn asks softly. She knows that she’s kind of prying, but if Rachel had a hard week, she wants to be able to offer some comfort, even if she was the reason behind it.   
  
Rachel nods slightly and resists the urge to tell Quinn that she’s missed her. There’s already an unsent email that says the same thing. “Not as long as yours was, I imagine.” She turns away from the television to actually look at Quinn. “Is everything okay? With the…” She has no frame of reference for what Quinn is going through, so she tries, “…church stuff?”  
  
“It’s not a contest, Rach. I’m still so sorry.” She tucks the hand closest to Rachel beneath her leg, just in case. “Everything is… okay, yes. I finally brought it up with my therapist a few days ago. I’m just processing.”   
  
It’s more than she’s ever talked about her therapy outside of therapy, and she bites down on her lip. It’s not a comfortable topic, not even with Rachel. “Have you been spending time with your dads?”  
  
“Some, yes. They both work and we already have designated family time, so it hasn’t been any more than usual. Daddy started sharing some cooking tips for eating cheaply, but it’s a little irrelevant because I can’t have as much as a hot plate in my dorm room.” Rachel laughs a little, just to fill the space, even though the movie is making plenty of noise.  
  
The silence stretches out, after that because Quinn is just completely lost. It feels like there’s this giant clock in the corner of her life, counting down. She’s going to lose this game, and she has a feeling that when she does, when the buzzer sounds and she’s out of time, she’ll have lost everything.  
  
There doesn’t seem to be anything left to say, so Quinn says quietly, “I’m glad you wanted to still be friends, at least.” She can feel Rachel’s eyes on her off and on. Her own eyes stay glued to the television, but her attention is focused solely on the other end of the couch. She just wishes things could go back to how they were before, but she knows they can’t.   
  
The easiest way to get through this (and Rachel hates that she has to think about it this way), is to allow herself to be caught up in the movie.  
  
The film itself is entertaining, even if it isn’t her usual fare. She likes all of the actors involved and she finds herself just being entertained. This leads to her thinking about acting in general and if she would ever take a role in a film like this. And that thought reminds her that Quinn has dramatic potential that’s still primarily untapped.  
  
“Would you ever be in a movie like this?” she asks.  
  
The question is unexpected, but welcome. For one, it doesn’t call for her to dig her emotions loose and lay them bare, and for another, it’s an interesting idea.   
  
“Sure,” she says easily, for the first time tonight. “The makeup is amazing, and it would demand a definite amount of physicality. It’s probably too base for someone with your level of talent to consider, but I think the stunts would be fun. Are you… enjoying it so far?”   
  
It’s almost involuntary, the smile that appears in Rachel’s face, in response to the comment on her performance ability.  
  
“It’s not bad,” she admits. “It’s funnier than I thought it would be.” There’s another beat of silence until she says, “You’d make a good action star, I think. Femme fatale good looks combined with advanced athletic ability.” She nods, as if she’s just determined Quinn’s future.  
  
“Femme fatale. Whatever.” Rachel earns an exaggerated eyeroll at that. “Seriously, though. It’s not too scary?”   
  
Rachel isn’t even paying attention to the movie in this moment. Instead, she’s mildly annoyed at her… friend. “Why do you do that? I know that you know you’re absolutely stunning.”  
  
“I don’t—” Every muscle of Quinn’s freezes, except her heart, which is thundering in her chest. “You think I’m stunning?”   
  
Rachel’s admission is what it takes to finally pry Quinn’s eyes off of the movie and look at her. It was a dumb move because now she can’t look away.   
  
It’s Rachel who rolls her eyes, this time. “You either have recurring amnesia or you just like making me tell you this.” She stares at Quinn for a beat, but it’s almost too intense with the direct eye contact happening between them. “Of course I do,” she says, then forces herself to look back at the television.  
  
“I don’t try to make you tell me anything,” Quinn says softly, still looking at Rachel. Really looking at her. “You just do. A lot. But this time it was… such a strong word, and I don’t always know how to…” She sighs. Why is it alternatively so easy and yet so hard? “Thank you.”  
  
She should stop here. She really should, but it just doesn’t feel right, and Dr. Radcliffe did encourage her to explore these particular feelings, so she adds, “I think you are too. Beautiful, actually.”  
  
It’s overwhelming and she’s back to Zombieland, because killing the undead is something that makes everyone feel better. Or it should.   
  
Rachel’s breath catches for a split second, then it’s back to normal. The warmth creeping across her cheeks, however, lingers. She risks a glance, but there’s no eye contact, this time because Quinn’s watching the movie. “Quinn… I…” What do you say when the prettiest girl you’ve ever known calls you beautiful? “Thank you.” As she looks back at the screen, she considers her own acting career. “I hope at least a few Broadway directors share your opinion.” More than once, she’s been told she isn’t a conventional beauty, that she’s sweet and has a fantastic voice, but not the right type for a leading lady.  
  
“They’re crazy if they don’t,” Quinn says. She’s suddenly glad for the distance between them because she’s not sure if she would be able to say the things she wants to right now without it. She’s been given a golden opportunity, and she’s not about to waste it. “There’s no doubt in my mind that your future is bright. All I have to do is look at you, and I can see how successful you’re going to be. It’s not even a question, Rachel. We’ve talked about this before, but I’ve never told you… I’m— proud of you for the decisions you’ve made the past year and for your courage to be able to let go of the known and follow those dreams. I know that you’re nervous about this, but if you could only see what I see… you wouldn’t be nervous at all.” She takes a deep breath because she’s still not done, and this is taking a lot out her. Again. “You’re easily the most talented person I’ve ever met, and— you’re going to be so amazing, Rachel. I can’t wait to watch you make it.”   
  
Her emotions are still whirling inside of her from her meeting with Dr. Radcliffe, and now they feel like they might just escape altogether. She bites her lip to stop her eyes from betraying her and tries her best to care about zombie apocalypse survival.   
  
Unlike Quinn, Rachel doesn’t even attempt to keep her emotions locked down and she’s already blinking at the tears that are forming in her eyes. The genuine compliment makes her feel warm inside, but Quinn’s also brought up something they haven’t really discussed since it happened, because, up until recently, they were friendly but never really friends. She thinks about that day in the girls’ room at McKinley, that conversation where Quinn told her everything she didn’t want to hear, but needed to be said. It was the day Rachel made a choice about her future and stayed true to the path that she’d been on for as long as she could remember. Her life, her future, her ultimate dream was based around New York and Broadway, not around Finn Hudson.  
  
That still doesn’t mean she isn’t terrified about starting over, alone, in one of the biggest cities in the world.  
  
“I… I’m scared. To go.” Her body quivers as she pulls in a shaky breath. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted and I… can’t imagine myself doing anything else, but…” She pulls the pillow tighter to her chest. “My whole life is going to change.”  
  
As angry as she is at Quinn for not taking advantage of her own future, she can see the potential appeal of lingering in Lima. For as much as everyone sets their sights on getting out, it’s at least familiar. At least here, both of them have legacy among the Lima Loser population. “I sometimes think that if I stayed in Ohio, I’d at least be guaranteed to top the bill of every community theater production.” It’s intended to be a joke, but her voice breaks and she’s wiping at the wetness on her cheeks.  
  
This is something she’s only ever kept inside, not something she’s shared with Kurt or Blaine or Mercedes. They’ve all had chats about the fear of failure, but Rachel’s always carried the torch of persistence and big dreams. She’s Miss New York, as far as all her friends know.   
  
Except for Quinn, who now knows that Rachel Berry, as much as anyone, has doubts.  
  
“Rachel,” Quinn says, and she knows that she sounds as wrecked as she feels, given what Rachel’s just shared with her. “Your whole life is going to change. It’s going to be amazing.” Quinn offers her a sad smile. The urge has never been stronger to wrap her arms around Rachel. It’s almost to the level of torture to remain sitting as still as stone while Rachel admits her fears. It’s not fair. “You’re going to get to New York and fit right in. Trust me, a few days and you’ll have forgotten all about this.”   
  
“You sound so sure.” And Rachel appreciates Quinn’s resolve about all of this, because she needs it. “But you’re wrong about me forgetting any of this. I… couldn’t. Everything has made me who I am, especially the last few years.” There’s something else, something that’s been hanging between them for a while, but never really discussed. “And I definitely wouldn’t forget you.”  
  
There’s a squeak and Quinn’s hand flies to her mouth. “Please don’t,” she says and wraps her arms around herself. This is something she definitely can’t handle right now. She wants to, god how she wants to, but she can’t.   
  
“Would it, um…” Rachel swallows hard, because she isn’t sure how she’ll handle a negative answer to what she’s about to ask. “… be entirely inappropriate for me to ask for a hug, right now?”  
  
Yes. It would be entirely inappropriate. Not to mention the fact that Quinn can’t. If she pulls Rachel into her arms now, she might not be able to let go and that would be… bad. And inappropriate. She absolutely can’t. She opens her mouth to say so, but instead what comes out is a very quiet, “no.”   
  
For a moment, Rachel’s arms remain locked around the pillow. Once she realizes her request hasn’t been denied, she slowly pushes it to the side and turns to Quinn, who doesn’t seem to be moving. Then again, Quinn isn’t the world’s foremost hug enthusiast, so Rachel takes the initiative to carefully settled her arms around Quinn, even though their positions are totally wrong. Quinn’s sideways and her shoulder is digging into Rachel’s chest, but Rachel doesn’t care. This is the first time they’ve even touched since their date. It’s painfully awkward. But it’s better than nothing at all.  
  
This is ridiculous. After everything they’ve been through together, Quinn can’t even find the courage to turn and meet Rachel halfway. She concentrates on breathing evenly through her nose. The way Rachel is clinging to her is so very Rachel Berry that Quinn can’t help but smile, even amid her panic.   
  
She rolls her eyes at herself. What could it possibly hurt? They’re both mature individuals; they can certainly handle a hug. Quinn sighs and gives in, turning slightly and moving her arm so that it wraps around Rachel’s ribs just below her arm.  
  
Now that Quinn is holding her, if even just in a half-hug, Rachel feels safer than she has all week. Because of that, everything just comes out, and the tears suddenly become sobs, but only for a moment. She does her best to get them under control as quickly as possible. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles. “I’m…” She’s what? Been missing Quinn? Been wondering what they could be doing, right now, if the world hadn’t turned upside-down on them? “… just in a very vulnerable emotional state.”  
  
Quinn doesn’t even think before she’s stroking Rachel’s hair and murmuring, “shh” and “I’ve got you” in Rachel’s ear. It’s blurring the lines for Quinn, because now it’s not just hugging. Now Rachel’s hair is involved and Quinn’s mouth is touching Rachel’s skin, which is proving to be too much. Before she can even think about it, she’s pressing a soft kiss just below Rachel’s ear. She’s means it in a comforting way, but it’s still a kiss, and she freezes. Crap. She just kissed Rachel. Again.  
  
She starts to pull away immediately. She needs space. Distance. Clarity. She’s done her comforting and now she needs to get the hell away from Rachel Berry before she does something she regrets.   
  
Rachel sighs when she feels the kiss against her skin. Just knowing Quinn’s still capable of affection, whether it’s supposed to happen or not, makes her feel better. That moment, though, is immediately followed by Quinn pulling away from her and Rachel knows she has to let go, because they’ve wandered back into that space without any boundaries.   
  
She sits back up and wipes at her eyes with both of her hands.  
  
“Are you okay?” Quinn asks. She’s still buzzing from their contact, still wishing it was longer. In this moment, the urge to reach over and pull Rachel into her lap is overwhelming. It’s something she’s wanted for such a long time, and it breaks her heart a little that she might never get to see what it’s like. “I’m not sure how to do this, Rachel,” she adds, and god help her, she doesn’t even fully understand what she means.   
  
“I will be.” Rachel pushes her shoulders up in a shrug, then they drop. Her hands fall into her lap where she folds and unfolds them while she considers what to say. “I’m not, either.” Quinn just kissed her. No, it wasn’t on the mouth. It wasn’t even sexual, it was comforting. But it felt like… something. “I don’t like not being able to touch you. But, I know that when I do touch you, it makes me feel…” She doesn’t want to say too much, because she doesn’t want to overload Quinn. “I guess I need to know what’s okay and what isn’t.”  
  
“Rachel… your email. You—” Quinn’s not really sure how to continue. “I don’t know how to answer that. I— want you to. Be able to.. touch me.” This is a disaster, so Quinn just adds helplessly, “if you want to. But you said that we should just be friends without… anything else.”  
  
“I said that because I thought it would be easier than not being around you at all. I didn’t want you to just… stop talking to me.” Rachel fixates on adjusting her skirt over her lap. “From what you said about… church… I didn’t want to make anything worse for you. I still don’t.” Things about their relationship are confusing for her, yet some parts are very clear. “I just know that I like being with you. No matter what we’re doing.”  
  
“I didn’t mean to stop talking to you. I just don’t know how to… talk about what I want. And right now, I just… want you to…” Quinn bites her lip. This is her therapy homework, and she’s supposed to be exploring accepting what she wants. And right now, she wants Rachel to… “touch me.”  
  
There are gunshots or explosions or whatever happening on the television, but even though Rachel’s looking right at it, she has no idea what she’s seeing, because her attention is on what Quinn’s just said. She closes her eyes and considers what this means. Quinn wants Rachel to touch her. There aren’t any other specifics laid out. Just touching.  
  
“I want that, too,” she says, eyelids fluttering back open before she turns to look at Quinn. Her hand reaches over and her fingers skim along Quinn’s arm, stopping at her wrist.  
  
Rachel’s reaction is not lost on Quinn, and it honestly makes her heart pound. And then she feels the feather-light touch down her arm, and her hand curls automatically, slender fingers catching Rachel’s tiny wrist and encircling it.   
  
“Rachel,” Quinn breathes. This is bad, but she can’t stop it. The uncertainty and fear of this week have left her vulnerable. “Come here.”  
  
This is happening, again. It’s happening and they’re supposed to just be watching a movie, the way two friends would be. Except that’s apparently impossible, because Rachel’s already scooting closer to Quinn and she could care less about what’s happening on the screen. “I’m already right here,” she replies, eyes drifting from the hand on her wrist up to Quinn’s face.  
  
Quinn does her best to level Rachel with one of those looks. She has no idea if it works on her, or if it ever did, but it usually worked on boys she’s dated in the past.   
  
“No,” she says, tugging gently. “Come here.”  
  
The way Quinn’s looking at her makes Rachel feel positively electric. She suddenly understands that this is yet another shift for them and maybe it isn’t the wisest choice, given that this is the first time they’ve been around each other since everything regressed between them, but Rachel has absolutely no interest in that. There’s one thing on her mind right now, and she voices it. “Quinn, if I get any closer,” she turns and slips one leg over Quinn’s lap so her knees are on either side of Quinn’s hips, “I’ll be on top of you.”  
  
It takes a full minute to register that this is actually happening. Rachel is still supporting her own weight and isn’t technically touching Quinn anywhere, though Quinn still has her by the wrist. It’s just— close. It somehow feels closer than it ever has before, and Quinn allows herself time to absorb everything she can.   
  
Rachel seems to understand because she’s still hovering. When Quinn finally opens her eyes to search Rachel’s face, the first thing she can think of to say is, “It makes you feel…” She allows herself the tiniest movement— her thumb against the inside of Rachel’s wrist. “You started to say— how does it make you feel, Rachel?”   
  
With her free hand, Rachel reaches up and, very delicately, brushes Quinn’s bangs aside with her fingertips. “Like I won’t know how to stop.”  
  
The breath that catches is worthy; that admission is just— wow. It’s not something Quinn is ready for, but that doesn’t make the heat flowing through her any less intense.   
  
She looks into Rachel’s eyes so that Rachel can see the sincerity when she says, “I’m so sorry. About last week. This is scary for me, and I’m not ready for— everything, but… I’m not out to hurt you. Please tell me you know that.”   
  
“I do know that,” Rachel says, her fingers still lingering on Quinn’s cheek. “You won’t even let me watch horror movies by myself.” She relaxes so she’s actually sitting on Quinn’s lap, instead of just kneeling over her. “I shouldn’t have ever said what I did, because I don’t believe any of it. I was just so scared.” Everything is so warm, right now. Her chest, the space between them, Quinn’s hand on her wrist. “I’m sorry, too.”  
  
When Rachel sinks down, and Quinn feels her full weight, she can’t help but close her eyes. Her hands automatically find Rachel’s waist. She really is tiny. Light and slender, everywhere. “Please don’t be scared of me,” she whispers. It’s the worst thing she can think of, Rachel being scared of her. Scared of this.  
  
Quinn’s hands slide around to Rachel’s back and she applies a gentle pressure there, hinting to get Rachel closer still, but they’re already so close. “I like this,” she says softly. “Holding you. I like it.”   
  
It’s the first time she’s admitted as much out loud, and now that it’s out there, she actually feels kind of free.  
  
Rachel quickly clues in to the hint and angles herself forward. “I like it, too,” she whispers, as her forehead rests against Quinn’s. Her eyes are also closed and her hand has dropped from Quinn’s cheek to settle on her shoulder. Her voice still a whisper, she continues with, “I’m not scared of you Quinn. I don’t think I ever have been.” Infuriated with her? Sure. Confused by her? Definitely. But never scared of her.  
  
Quinn only has one thing left to say. “Rach… can I kiss you?”   
  
Quinn could have easily done it without asking and Rachel would have been perfectly content. The question, though, seems to make Rachel’s heart skip a beat. Instead of fixating on what that means, she responds with a soft, “Yes, please.”  
  
The kiss doesn’t happen right away. Instead, Quinn leans forward and nuzzles Rachel’s neck, taking her time to really pay attention. She maps Rachel’s jaw with her nose, all the way up, and then over, across Rachel’s cheek. When their noses finally touch, Quinn just focuses on holding her and enjoying how close they are. She can feel Rachel’s breath on her lips and wonders if Rachel is feeling the same things she is in this moment.   
  
There is no one here but the two of them. No chance of being seen, no judgement or fear. She feels like she did that night on the football field beneath the stars, and it’s that memory that’s in her brain when she finally presses her lips to Rachel’s.   
  
It’s been at least a week since they’ve kissed and in all the time since then and now, Rachel had no idea if and when they’d ever have a chance to do it, again. When she finally feels the pressure of Quinn’s lips against her own, there’s a light sound that works its way up Rachel’s throat.  
  
This is… incredible. It isn’t rushed, it isn’t accidental, it isn’t anything but the two of them, here in this moment, together. The kiss remains simple, at first. But it isn’t long before Rachel’s nudging at Quinn’s lips with hers, wanting to deepen the contact. Her fingers clamp around the back of Quinn’s neck, as if she wants to hold her in place, though it’s not as if she could get very far with Rachel on top of her.  
  
And then there’s… that. She’s on top of Quinn. Sure, they’re both fully dressed on a couch, but Rachel can feel the way Quinn’s chest moves when she breathes. It’s almost as if she can feel everything, really, but she knows that’s impossible. She just feels that close, right now.

  
This is a fantasy that Quinn has entertained for a while now, Rachel on her lap with her legs on either side of Quinn’s thighs. When she thinks about it, sometimes they’re sitting, sometimes they’re laying down, but Quinn is always focused on Rachel’s legs. Now, with it actually happening, her hands slide off of Rachel’s waist and land gently on the tops of her thighs. The length of Rachel’s skirt is causing Quinn to experience skin-on-skin contact, and she involuntarily squeezes when Rachel deepens the kiss. There’s a spot on her neck that makes her lose all sense of propriety, and when Rachel grasps her there, Quinn’s hands start moving up and down of their own volition.   
  
She’s no longer thinking of anything except how good it feels to have Rachel sitting where she is, doing the things she doing with her hands and mouth. This is exactly what Quinn has been missing all week, and she relaxes even more when she feels how right it is.   
  
Rachel is entirely unsure if it’s a boys versus girls or a Quinn versus everyone else kind of a thing, but the way Quinn touches her is unlike the way anyone else ever has. There’s a deliberate element to the way Quinn’s hands move that makes Rachel feel like she receiving attention instead of just being blindly groped, even though Quinn’s never once touched her like this before.  
  
She breaks their kiss, just to breathe for a moment. “Quinn,” she murmurs, “That’s… I like that…” And then her lips are right back to what they were doing. Rachel has absolutely no idea how she survived an entire week without kissing Quinn.  
  
Rachel’s encouragement is like a shock all the way through Quinn’s body, and her hands skim just a little longer and knead just a little harder as she tilts her head and licks at Rachel’s bottom lip with her tongue. She still can’t believe that this is happening. Rachel is all heat and pressure above her, and the thought suddenly hits Quinn that Rachel’s outfit affords very little clothing between them. The realization is unbelievably sexy, and she groans into Rachel’s mouth.   
  
As Quinn groans underneath her, Rachel’s response is to grab a handful of Quinn’s hair and let her tongue graze against the one that’s moving against her bottom lip. Somehow, she’s resisting the urge to reach down and shove one of the hands further up her skirt. The fact that the thought is even circulating in her brain tells her that this could get very intense, very quickly. But she trusts Quinn, no matter what happens.  
  
“God, Rach,” Quinn says against Rachel’s mouth when she feels Rachel’s hand wind into her hair. She had no idea that that could possibly feel so good. She wishes Rachel would pull just a little harder, and while she’s thinking about that, she drags the fingernails of both hands straight down Rachel’s thighs. Not enough to be painful, but… enough. She’s running on pure reaction, and she wants more of Rachel, everywhere.   
  
Apparently, Quinn likes the tugging on her hair, so Rachel does it again. She allows her other hand to drag down the front of Quinn’s shirt until her palm rests over the swell of Quinn’s breast. There’s no one around, this time, and yet she feels more self conscious about this than she did on the ferris wheel. “This still okay?” she asks, tilting her mouth away from Quinn’s.  
  
Quinn gasps and her head drops back to the couch. “Yes,” she hisses, and her hands are sliding up and around now, blindly grasping. Between what’s happening in her hair and the fact that Rachel is massaging her breast with absolutely no warning, she’s not even aware that her own hands are now locked down on Rachel’s ass. “Fuck,” she says, arching into Rachel’s hand. It somehow feels better this time around, and Quinn feels like she’s going to go crazy.   
  
“Quinn!” At first, Rachel thinks she’s shocked by the profanity, but she realizes what she’s feeling isn’t shock, at all. She’s turned on. Part of that may be due to the placement of Quinn’s hands, but she definitely likes the fact that she just made Quinn swear. They’re now pressed even more tightly together and it’s taking everything Rachel has not to rock against Quinn.  
  
Quinn is trying so hard not to lose focus, but it’s getting more and more difficult with every movement of Rachel’s hand. “God, Rach,” she says, biting lightly at Rachel’s neck. “That feels so good.” She wants to reciprocate somehow, but her brain is so hazy. The only thing she’s capable of right now is trying not to pass out. She manages to knead her hands a few times into where they’ve landed on Rachel’s ass, but she’s mostly just in awe of what Rachel is making her feel.   
  
There’s a whimper from Rachel that serves as her reply. She can’t even think about forming words, because there’s very little separating her from Quinn, right now. There’s now a firm peak pressing against the palm of her hand through Quinn’s shirt and she’s suddenly rolling it between her fingers. Her mouth is on Quinn’s neck and her knees are doing their best to keep still, but she knows that she’s a matter seconds away from just giving in and grinding herself against Quinn.  
  
“Oh my god.”   
  
This new trick that Rachel is doing with her fingers makes color burst behind Quinn’s eyelids, and Quinn pulls Rachel’s other hand down from her hair to do the same thing on the other side. “Please don’t stop,” Quinn murmurs. Quinn has never felt anything like this, and when she feels a sharp pinch, she gasps and pulls at Rachel, hard, working her hands in cadence with Rachel’s breathing, which sounds as heavy as her own.  
  
She doesn’t even know what she wants anymore, just that she wants to be closer.  
  
There’s way too much happening for Rachel to maintain the control she’s been holding onto up until now. Quinn’s verbal encouragement is already incredibly stimulating, but when Rachel feels her own hand being placed for her, it’s almost as if her hips move by themselves. She’s turned on to the point where it should probably be embarrassing, given that the only thing between her and Quinn’s jean clad lap is a pair of green and white striped Joe Boxer hipster cut panties. They aren’t even her cutest underpants.  
  
Quinn’s body is on fire. Rachel’s hands are seeing to that, but up until this point Quinn is pretty proud of her self-control. It’s only when she feels Rachel moving on her lap, all bets are off. She doesn’t care what happens, as long as Rachel keeps doing that.   
  
She cranes her head back to give Rachel more access to her neck and claws at Rachel’s hips, urging her to rock them forward again.   
  
“Fuck, Rachel,” she breathes. “You feel so good.”   
  
Normally, Quinn is very calculated, especially when it comes to matters of sexuality, but right now she can’t even bring herself to feel bad that she’s basically getting mauled on Rachel’s fathers’ couch.   
  
The guidance of her hips isn’t even necessary, because Rachel’s already moving again. Knowing that Quinn wants it, that it makes her react like this, that it makes her say things like fuck and Rachel in the same breath, leaves Rachel wanting to do this all day. She’s never really been attracted to profanity before, but the way it rolls of Quinn’s tongue when she isn’t expecting it just makes Rachel want to figure out how to get it to happen as often as possible.  
  
One of her hands abandons its current task to wrap into Quinn’s plaid shirt and pull her in for another kiss. The tug is a little rough and causes the top two snaps to pop open and Rachel feels her fingers grazing over skin.  
  
Quinn wants nothing more than for Rachel to slide her hand down the front of her shirt, but she realizes through her foggy arousal that Rachel probably won’t be that bold after the week that they’ve had. She continues kissing Rachel deeply and reaches up to pop a few more snaps. There’s plenty of skin now for Rachel to explore at will, and that somehow translates into Quinn’s hands sliding back up Rachel’s thighs. This time, when she follows the curve of Rachel’s hips around, she manages to stay under the skirt.   
  
It’s not something she’s done on purpose, but now that her hands are gently kneading Rachel’s ass with only a thin layer of cotton between them, she groans into Rachel’s mouth for the second time tonight. By the time she sucks lightly on Rachel’s tongue, she’s never been more turned on, and she’s kind of subtly undulating herself beneath Rachel’s legs just to feel Rachel move against her more.   
  
At first, when Quinn’s hand moves up to the opening of the shirt, Rachel thinks she’s crossed a line into an off-limits zone and then Quinn just proceeds to allow her more access. Even with the unspoken permission, she explores carefully, tracing under the now exposed collar bone in front of her.  
  
Quinn’s hands are making it increasingly difficult to maintain whatever composure she has left and that’s already rapidly fading.   
  
“Quinn… I want… You can…”  
  
Words aren’t really working for her, so she reaches back, under her skirt and wraps her fingers around the hand on that side then brings it around and up to the front of her own top. She wants to be as equal opportunity as possible.  
  
There’s no preamble. Once Rachel moves her hand, Quinn’s instinct takes over, and she palms the soft mound she comes in contact with. This is a first, what she’s feeling with her hand right now, and she gasps into Rachel’s mouth at how perfect it feels. The shape and size are just— she’s thought about them before, but only from afar and only to appreciate how they looked in a particular shirt. She’s never dreamed that this would feel so—  
  
She can’t help it. The other hand drags slowly up Rachel’s stomach and covers Rachel’s other breast. She alternates between squeezing and just sort of feeling. Caressing. The word is caressing. Rachel’s fingers are doing magical things along her collarbone and dipping occasionally down inside of her shirt, and then there’s the grinding, and— god.  
  
Quinn Fabray has her hands on another girl’s breasts, and it’s causing the most amazing sounds and movement to come out of her. She shifts beneath Rachel’s body, and suddenly feels—   
  
Her eyes roll back. Rachel Berry is making her wet.  
  
No one’s touched Rachel like this in months. Correction. No one’s touched Rachel there in months. No one’s touched her like this, ever.  
  
Quinn’s hands, as slender as they are, feel like they’re everywhere. Her own hand is slipping further down and she finds herself cupping the front of Quinn’s bra. She’s compelled to actually look down to see what she’s doing and she presented with the image of her fingers moving along the delicate fabric that’s the only thing preventing her from actually making contact with the pale breast beneath it.  
  
“Oh my god,” she breathes. It’s partly the sight of what she’s doing and also the sensation that’s surging through her every single time she presses her body down against Quinn.   
  
This is the most passionate moment of Quinn’s life. She’s caught up in the flush of Rachel’s cheeks, the way her chest is heaving. The feel of Rachel’s body filling up her hands. It’s driving her crazy, the smell of Rachel’s hair and of… something else that she can’t quite place- something that’s good, whatever it is. As many times as she’s made out in her life, it has never been like this.   
  
“So sexy,” Quinn whispers. The things that Rachel can do are unreal, and Quinn feels like she’s unraveling. It’s still not enough, and she pinches at the peak she feels through Rachel’s shirt with one hand while the other closes over the hand that Rachel has against her own chest. She works her hand against Rachel’s, coaxing her to squeeze harder, and can’t help but pant, “how do you feel?”   
  
There’s a breathy groan that pushes its way out of Rachel’s mouth, against Quinn’s neck. Everything is so intense and she feels, “Incredible.”  
  
Now that she knows Quinn wants more of what she’s doing, Rachel grows a little more bold with the movements of her fingers, applying more pressure where Quinn seems to want it. “You. You feel incredible. I mean, you… make me feel… god, Quinn.”  
  
Her panties are embarrassingly damp, but she can’t bring herself to care. She wants Quinn to know just how worked up she is, right now. It’s probably difficult for Quinn to overlook, given that the consistent rise and fall of Rachel’s hips is growing increasingly erratic.  
  
“Fuck,” Quinn says. Between Rachel’s hand, hips and mouth, Quinn is unbelievably turned on. “You sound so—” Rachel rocks down particularly hard, and whatever Quinn was going to say is strangled in her throat. “Oh my god, I can feel you.”   
  
It’s as if Rachel can’t control her own body, that it’s moving on its own and she’s just along for the ride. The way Quinn continues to react to her just pushes Rachel further. One hand is still palming a breast through Quinn’s bra, the other is back to gripping a handful of hair as Rachel dips her head back down for another deep kiss.  
  
The tug at her hair makes her hiss and surge forward, pushing her tongue into Rachel’s mouth. This is completely out of control. There are no thoughts anymore, not for Quinn. Only feelings and desire and Rachel.   
  
She doesn’t even know where her own hands are at this point. Rachel’s breast, her neck, her ass, her hair. She wants to touch as many places as Rachel will let her. And the kissing— god, the kissing is fantastic. She never wants it to end.   
  
The stimulation Rachel’s getting from grinding against Quinn’s lap has her panting heavily and tugging at Quinn, but it isn’t direct enough to actually push her to climax. It’s funny, they were only supposed to be watching a movie together and now Rachel’s concerned with getting off. She’ll be okay if they stop, other than the pure frustration she’ll experience. She doesn’t want this to be something that’s too intense for their undulating relationship status. But if possible, she’d much prefer the alternate option.  
  
“Quinn…” It’s difficult to talk between kisses, let alone express what she’s trying to say. “I… if we keep… um, I need…” Forget words, all she has are actions, for now. She leans a little to one side so she can shift her weight, then repositions her right leg between Quinn’s, so that she’s just straddling one leg, instead of both. “Is this okay?” she asks.  
  
It takes a second for Quinn to realize that Rachel is talking to her, and then it registers that she’s pulling away. The disappointment that she feels is palpable until Rachel’s settles again and suddenly everything is right there. “Oh my god, are you—” Her hands clench and her eyes flutter when Rachel sinks against her because now Rachel is pressing against her as well. When she asks if it’s okay, Quinn can only nod.   
  
There’s now no doubt in her mind where this is headed and she’s slightly apprehensive but mostly just craving more of Rachel. “Are you okay?” Rachel looks so much better than okay that it’s kind of blowing Quinn’s mind, but she has to know for sure.   
  
“Uh huh,” is Rachel’s dazed reply. Already, the change in position has her that much closer and now that she feels confident that Quinn’s all right with what she’s doing, Rachel lets her head fall against Quinn’s shoulder, her breath heavy and rhythmic, in sync with the movement of her body.   
  
Having dated Finn, she’s accustomed to needing to take care of herself and it isn’t until she’s already teetering over into her orgasm that she realizes she’s left Quinn behind. She has no idea what the protocol is in this situation. Not that she’s even concerned with it in this exact moment, because all she can focus on are the backs of her own eyelids and the fact that she’s shuddering against Quinn.  
  
The way Rachel grinds against her is more urgent, and when Quinn vaguely makes the connection that Rachel is actually riding her leg, she groans against her and pulls her closer. Rachel drops her head to Quinn’s shoulder, and Quinn simply holds her and tries to take it all in. After that, it doesn’t take long.  
  
When Rachel finally stiffens and shudders against Quinn’s body, all Quinn can think to say is,“oh my god,” over and over. It’s incredible. Amazing. She’s trying to control her breathing, but with what she just experienced, she’ll be lucky if she makes it out of this without passing out. She flexes her arms around Rachel, content to hold her while she calms down, even if her own body is buzzing.   
  
Rachel hums in satisfaction when she feels Quinn’s arms around her. She’s quite fond of the security they represent to her and right now, she feels safe and warm and sated. But she also knows Quinn has to be needing more.   
  
Once Rachel’s breathing begins to even out, she’s keenly aware of the warmth against the leg that’s still wedged between Quinn’s thighs. She pushes herself upright and kisses a flushed cheek before she says, “That was amazing, but what about you?”  
  
What Rachel is offering is just— how does she admit how worked up she is? She’s supposed to explore her desires and allow herself to want things, and here is Rachel asking her if she needs to come. Quinn honestly has very little experience, so it’s the truth when she murmurs, “I… want to. I just don’t know if I can.”   
  
It takes a lot of trust to be that vulnerable in front of another person, after all. She presses a light kiss to Rachel’s neck and runs her fingers through silky dark hair. “It’s okay,” she says, but she might be convincing herself as well as Rachel.   
  
“Look, if…” Rachel’s trying to figure out how to word what she wants to say. Quinn’s heart is beating a mile a minute and Rachel is fairly positive it actually isn’t ‘okay’ and that there’s something she could do. “If you’re just not sure what you need… we can figure it out,” she says softly. “Or we don’t have to do anything.”  
  
Her fingers trail up and down the still-exposed skin of Quinn’s chest. “I just like being able to touch you.”  
  
“I like it, too, Rach,” Quinn agrees. So much. They don’t have to do any more tonight. Quinn would be fine, if she only got to hold and touch Rachel. But with the offer on the table… “What do you want to do, right now?”   
  
“I,” Rachel kisses the space just below Quinn’s bottom lip, “would love a chance to make you feel the way I just did. But,” she kisses the right side of Quinn’s mouth, “if you feel like that’s too much, I wouldn’t mind lying here with you. You know how I feel about your arms.”  
  
Quinn chews her lip and thinks about Rachel’s offer. “Do you think… we could maybe lie down for awhile?”   
  
It’s not that she doesn’t want to release her frustration; it’s that she doesn’t feel as comfortable when it’s her in the spotlight. She much prefers touching to being touched, and she hasn’t been intimate with anyone since Puck. She also didn’t mean for things to get so heated, and she’s okay with getting them back to cuddling basics. She needs to think about what just happened before it can happen again, anyway.   
  
She crooks an eyebrow. “How do you want to…?”   
  
Rachel’s a little disappointed that Quinn doesn’t seem to want to carry on with everything, but she understands. The more her head clears, the less sense it makes that they even just did what they did. Sense or not, though, she’s still riding high from it.  
  
“How do I want to lie down?” she asks, amused. “Traditionally, it’s like this.” She puts her hands on Quinn’s shoulders, then urges her sideways until she gives in and stretches out on the couch. Rachel follows suit and tucks her head below Quinn’s chin, then wraps an arm around Quinn’s middle. “Does this work for you?”  
  
“Smartass,” Quinn mumbles into Rachel’s hair. “Yes, this is fine.” Her shirt is still unbuttoned, and she tugs at it a little self-consciously. “I don’t want you to think that that wasn’t amazing for me too, Rachel,” she says after a few minutes of silence. “It was. And I’m going to tell you again… you can touch me whenever you want.” She can feel her cheeks burning. Talking about things like this will never feel comfortable to her. “You do make me feel good.”   
  
She nudges her foot between Rachel’s so that their legs are tangled together. She can’t remember the last time she felt this content.   
  
Rachel is fully prepared to just lie here with Quinn while they chat or drift off to sleep. But then Quinn says something that makes her reconsider. “Whenever I want?” Her hand skims over Quinn’s stomach and down her leg, where her fingers begin to draw patterns over the fabric of her jeans. “Because I really like making you feel good.”  
  
She doesn’t want to push too hard or go too far if Quinn isn’t ready for it. So, she’s banking her next move on the response she receives.  
  
Quinn’s exhale is shaky.   
  
“You do?” she asks stupidly. She’s a smart girl. Maintained straight As in high school, even. But Rachel has the ability with one movement of her hand to turn her into the dumbest person alive.   
  
“I do,” Rachel confirms, nodding against Quinn’s chest. Her hand is a few inches above the knee when she pushes it around to Quinn’s inner thigh. “I really do.” She raises herself up on her elbow so she can actually see Quinn’s face, unsure if it’s a good idea, because she doesn’t know if it will make Quinn even more self conscious. Still, she wants to look at her. “But only if you want me to.”  
  
When Rachel pushes up, Quinn compensates by rolling back slightly. Rachel’s hand is distracting, and when she looks up into Rachel’s face and sees such tenderness reflected back to her, she makes a decision.   
  
“Please,” she whispers.   
  
It’s a single, barely audible word, but it suddenly means everything. Rachel blinks, then smiles softly before she presses a kiss to Quinn’s lips. Her hand drags upward until it occupies the same space her leg did when they were sitting upright. She’s never touched anyone but herself like this, through a pair of jeans or otherwise. She wonders if this will even be effective enough for Quinn.  
  
Suddenly, there’s a hand cupping her intimately, and even though it’s through her jeans, just the idea that Rachel is touching her here makes her feel indescribably good. She’s biting her lip so hard that she feels like she might break skin, and she forces her eyes open so she can connect with Rachel just a little bit more. Slowly, she nods, and then moves her entire body closer to Rachel. She’ll need more than this if Rachel expects her to get some kind of release, but for now their closeness alone is killing her.   
  
Rachel applies more pressure with her fingers and begins to work them in a circular motion, as much as she can with the resistance of the denim. She knows what works for her, but that may not work for Quinn. There’s also the possibility that Quinn isn’t as well-versed in self-exploration as Rachel is. Not that Rachel’s any kind of expert, but she was also never one to attend the chastity ball.  
  
“Just tell me if I need to do something differently,” she says, gazing at Quinn before she leans down to place a row of kisses along Quinn’s collar bone. Rachel loves that she can still see so much of Quinn, even if it isn’t really anything incredibly racy.  
  
“You’re— that’s… good,” Quinn says breathlessly. It doesn’t take long at all for her hips to start working slowly against Rachel’s hand. She’s still so wet, and Rachel’s mouth on her collar bone is doing nothing to help her control herself.  
  
It’s almost uncomfortable being this turned on, and she just wants to let go. She remembers how Rachel mewled as she rocked against her and then rode her leg until she came not five minutes ago, and it renews her passion instantly. “Feels so good,” she whispers and rolls up into Rachel’s hand again.   
  
This is unlike anything Rachel’s ever witnessed. Even though Quinn’s still holding back, she’s certainly showing a side that rarely surfaces. “Quinn,” she can’t decide where she wants to look, because she feels like she should be paying attention to what she’s doing, but watching Quinn’s face has a draw all it’s own. “You’re… so sexy, right now.” She feels like that’s the cliche thing to say, but it’s a hundred percent accurate.  
  
She works her hand with the movement of Quinn’s hips, but she still doubts that this is going to be enough. “Do you want me to… um, is this working for you? Because I could…” Get in your pants sounds so… uncouth.  
  
Quinn’s vocabulary is suspended for the moment, mostly because of the way Rachel’s hand is rubbing against her, but also because of what Rachel is asking. Or what she thinks Rachel is asking. “Please, Rach. Just— yes,” she manages. She hopes it enough for Rachel to be able to do what she needs to do in order to finish her. She honestly can’t take it anymore.   
  
It’s dizzying, the rush Rachel feels as she tugs open the button on Quinn’s jeans. Her hand eases downward, still outside the underwear that’s underneath. As much as Rachel’s ready to get Quinn off, she’s sure neither of them are ready for that much contact. When her fingers make contact with the warm, damp cotton, Rachel finds herself uttering, “Oh my god, Quinn,” in a low voice. She quickly resumes what she had been doing only a moment ago and it’s much easier to maneuver now that she can actually feel Quinn under her fingertips.  
  
The fact that she’s feeling this part of Quinn at all, makes her groan in response.  
  
When Quinn feels Rachel’s fingers slide down inside of her jeans and press against her panties, and then hears the low groan in her ear, she’s completely overcome. Some wall deep within her crumbles down and she thrusts her hips upward. “Fuck” is what comes out of her mouth in a whisper, and then her hand is wrapping around the back of Rachel’s neck and she’s half pulling herself up off the couch and arching her body.   
  
She’s close. “Here,” she chokes out, and reaches down to press the heel of Rachel’s hand into her how she needs it. When Rachel makes a circle again, Quinn nods and lets her hand fall away.   
  
The whispered swearing and the direct placement of her hand is currently the single most erotic experience of Rachel’s life. She continues to work against Quinn, as directed, and finds herself fascinated with the way Quinn moves, the way she breathes, the light sounds she makes in the back of her throat. It’s captivating, this performance that’s being played out in front of her.  
  
“Absolutely stunning,” she recalls, murmuring against Quinn’s ear.   
  
It feels like Rachel is everywhere, surrounding her. Her body is rolling, tensing, coiling. There’s something unfurling deep within her, and in the fog, she can hear her own voice repeating, “oh god… oh god…”   
  
Rachel’s hand swirls against her. She can hear her own wetness, and she knows that it must be all over Rachel’s hand by now, even through her briefs. God, Rachel’s hand is down her pants, rubbing furiously, trying to get her off. Rachel’s mouth is pressed against her ear, whispering words of beauty and desire.   
  
The flint ignites, way down, and a fire roars up through every portion of her body until she’s bowing up, gripping at Rachel and shaking. She has no idea what’s normal but she’s still shaking and Rachel is still rubbing against her, with less fervor, but it’s still burning through her until she finally closes her eyes and says, “Rachel!” into Rachel Berry’s neck.   
  
Rachel presses a series of kisses to Quinn’s neck while she waits for Quinn to eventually come down from the peak she’s just reached. She experiencing her own high from the fact that her hand is down Quinn Fabray’s pants and her fingers are sticky with… well, Quinn.  
  
Quinn’s chest is still heaving with the effort of what she’s just done— of what Rachel has done to her— and her eyes are still closed. Her entire body feels expended, like it does after a long run. She sets her jaw, focuses on breathing steadily through her nose, and tries not to move against the hand that is still inside her pants. She just needs a moment.   
  
Rachel relaxes against Quinn, content to lie there as everything settles, again. She cautiously slips her hand out of the jeans and rests her arm over Quinn’s stomach, similar to the position she claimed when the first moved to lie down. She wants to ask if Quinn’s okay, but she feels like maybe she should give her a break with all the questions, for now. Instead, she presses a simple kiss in the middle of Quinn’s chest, then straightens out the opening of the plaid shirt.  
  
The air conditioning is on and it’s somewhat cool inside, now that they’ve stopped moving and engaging in body heat generating activities, so Rachel reaches for the throw blanket that’s draped over the back of the sofa and lets it fall over them.  
  
Given their evening activities, it doesn’t take long for Rachel to drift off to sleep. As she does, there’s a sensation of being pulled even closer to Quinn and the feeling of a kiss against the top of her head.  
  
It’s possible she’s dreaming. But she hopes she isn’t.


	18. Living La Vida Loca at Lima Lanes

There’s a supreme disadvantage to school not being in session when Rachel has something she wants to discuss: It makes it difficult to discreetly poll people. Yes, she could resort to anonymous internet polling, but having the ladies of New Directions readily accessible in the past had always been incredibly convenient.

With summer in full swing, Kurt’s away in Westerville hanging out with Blaine more than he’s around in Lima. Tina and Mercedes are both pre-occupied with their own summer plans with their respective significant others. And as helpful as Santana’s been about everything, Rachel feels like she wants the opinion of someone who isn’t best friends with the girl she’s… currently involved with.  
  
While it doesn’t look like she’ll be able to round up the usual suspects, a few weeks ago she ran into Holly Holiday at the Farmer’s Market. Amidst a frenzy of congratulations about NYADA and bartering with a booth clerk about the price of organic locally brewed seasonal ales, Holly had given Rachel her number with an invitation to catch up before she leaves “to put a little more shine on the Big Apple, Sweet Cheeks.”  
  
Now, Rachel’s sitting in the snack bar at the Lima Lanes Bowling Alley, still wearing her large floppy summer hat but her sunglasses are folded on the table. She’s not sure why she feels she needs to be somewhat incognito, given that the primary clientele of Lima Lanes isn’t generally anyone she knows. Burt and Carole Hudson do frequent the establishment, but in the evenings and usually on Mondays  
  
Holly doesn’t realize it’s Rachel sitting there until she’s almost sauntered past her table. By the time she takes in the hat, her stride has slowed considerably, and her hips aren’t swinging quite so wide. She drops lightly in the chair across from Rachel and slides a doubled-up paper plate piled with nachos in Rachel’s direction. She smooths her short skirt and flashes Rachel a smile.  
  
“Hola, Hot Stuff. Imagine seeing you here.” When she crosses her legs, the patten leather of her knee-high boots rub together and make the kind of noise that somehow shouldn’t fit in in a bowling alley but it does. She scoops a chip into the hot cheese and pops the whole thing in her mouth.  
  
“Thank you for,” Rachel cringes, because she’s positive that liquid cheese is a molten temperature, “agreeing to meet with me. This is certainly a unique location.” It’s the middle of the day, so there are only two lanes with any customers and they’re at the far end. This keeps the sound of falling pins to a minimum, so the most their conversation has to compete with is the sizzle of the short order grill on the other side of the counter.  
  
Holly cocks her head to the side and laughs. “You make it sound like some kind of therapy session, girlfriend. We’re just catching up.” Another nacho disappears, and Holly sucks cheese off of her thumb. “God, these nachos are my favorite. I know that it’s a bowling alley, but this grill is seriously my favorite place to eat in this quaint little town. So, tell me. How have you been doing with the whole relax thing we talked about? Any more zen these days?”  
  
Rachel takes a sip of the iced tea that’s sitting on the table in front of her. The straw squeaks against the plastic lid as she does and it just seems to add to the ambiance of the place. “I’m sorry. Yes, you’re right. This is casual.” The cup settles back on the table. “I’m not as uptight as people seem to think I am… but I have been working on doing things for myself and not trying to be overly concerned with what other people will think.” She wonders if Holly’s affinity for the grill has anything to do with the guy behind the counter who keeps smiling in their direction. “It’s kind of why I wanted to talk to you. In addition to catching up, that is.”  
  
Holly is sure to keep her face light. Carefree, even. It’s kind of what she’s known for. But she can tell that something is really weighing on Rachel, and she’s suddenly very alert. “I’m honored to be the person you called for moral support. What’s on your mind?”  
  
“Well,” Rachel appreciates that Holly Holiday is someone who doesn’t bother with small talk, that she’s willing to just dive in to the issue at hand. “As you already know, I was accepted to NYADA and will be leaving for New York at the end of the summer. My original plan was to just enjoy my last few months in Lima, make some memories, and possibly indulge in a summer fling. You know, something for my future memoirs about my last hometown hurrah. And I’m… on track with all of that, but it isn’t… quite the way I imagined.”  
  
A fling. Brilliant. Or, well, usually a fling is brilliant. Except that Rachel looks— “Hey,” Holly says immediately, “turn that frown upside down. A summer fling can be the perfect ending chapter before college. It’s a good plan.” Holly digs back into the nachos. “What’s the problem?”  
  
Rachel is beginning to feel both ridiculous and overheated in her hat, so she removes it and places it on the open seat next to her. “It isn’t that there’s a problem. It’s more that there are complications.” She fiddles with her straw before continuing. “If you recall, Finn Hudson and I were the senior class sweethearts until earlier this year. He was only one of two boyfriends that I had all through my high school career, so when I considered that I might indulge in a seasonal romance, I assumed it would be…” There’s a pause as she takes a breath, “… not Quinn Fabray.”  
  
Holly does her best to ignore Tony behind the counter who keeps grinning at her every few minutes. He’s cute and sometimes he slips her onion rings on the house, and there aren’t really any complaints to be made about the way he kisses, either, but Rachel is sitting in front of her talking about something that’s obviously very important to her. Which means it’s important to Holly. That’s something that’s always come easy to her - other people’s problems. It’s her own she’s never been able to wrangle.  
  
But when Rachel drops the bomb, namely ‘Quinn Fabray,’ Holly forgets all about Tony. This just got juicy. “Quinn Fabray… blonde, wears a lot of skirts? Weren’t the two of you in the celibacy club when I was subbing for the sex ed teacher?” It occurs to her that, while she might not appear shocked, she’s not exactly playing it as cool as she’d like for Rachel’s benefit, so she adds, “What complications?”  
  
“Yes, although she wears fewer skirts and has been known to stray from the blonde on occasion.” Rachel’s mildly offended at the loose suggestion that she and Quinn are sleeping together. “And, yes, we were in celibacy club, but I never once implied that she and I were sexually active.” They aren’t. Kind of. “Or…” Her shoulders drop as she sighs. “That’s part of the complication.”  
  
Holly shifts instantly into big sister mode. It’s effortless, and she smiles all the way through it. “It’s okay to not have a definition to put on things sometimes, Rachel. You obviously want to talk about this, and I’m a great listener. You don’t have to define anything, and I won’t judge. Are you struggling with your sexuality or is it less of the gender that’s on your mind and more of the person?” It seems like an easy enough question to start with, but she really doesn’t want it to feel like therapy.  
  
“I’m fine with my sexuality. It… caught me a little off guard, but I’ve always been encouraged to be open when it comes to possible relationships.” Rachel isn’t sure how much Holly knows about her personal life, so she adds, “I have two gay dads.” From the look she’s receiving, it may not be new information. “And, honestly, I assumed I might do some self-exploration when I left for college. So, I suppose it’s more about… her.”  
  
“Okay, fair enough,” Holly says. “So, talk to me about her.”  
  
“We started hanging out a few weeks ago. Before that, we weren’t really close. We’ve been friendly, especially over the last year and I’ve gone to her for advice on some important things, but we never really spent time together outside of glee club.” The more Rachel reflects on her senior year, the more she sees that Quinn has been present, just not active in her life. “I started to realize that I’m attracted to her and, at first, she said she wasn’t interested but then… I guess she was. Or, is. We’re not dating or anything.” That’s plenty about them. But Holly asked about Quinn. “Quinn is… stubborn. And half the time I can never tell if she’s ten seconds away from brooding the night away. But when she actually lets herself be happy with something, she’s… she’s amazing.”  
  
Holly smiles, because of the dreamy look on Rachel’s face. “That doesn’t sound so bad. Lots of people are stubborn.” There’s something else, something that Rachel isn’t saying, but Holly is working with the things she knows. “She’s a pretty girl,” is one of them.  
  
Rachel nods. “She’s beautiful. I’ve always thought so.” She wonders if Holly heard about the time she wanted to put Quinn’s nose on her own face. Probably. “Quinn’s not just stubborn the way most people are. She’s fixated on this idea that she shouldn’t be happy. That’s not what she’s said to me, but it’s what I get from her. She thinks she has to be stuck here and she won’t do anything about it and, meanwhile, she wants to spend time with me until she suddenly doesn’t and I never know what I’m supposed to do because I wasn’t planning on feeling the way I do about her. And if she could be even one tenth as content as she looks when she’s asleep while she’s awake, maybe she wouldn’t be so uptight all the time.” Rachel pushes out the final few words and shoves her straw into her mouth. She isn’t even sure just how much she’s word vomited in the middle of the Lima Lanes snack bar, but she feels a little better.  
  
Holly considers all of this for a moment and allows Rachel to collect herself before saying slowly, “You said before that you’re not sexually active. But clearly there are some emotions involved here. How do you feel about… whatever it is the two of you do together?”  
  
When Rachel thinks about whatever it is they do, she feels warmth quickly spreading across her cheeks. “It’s incredible. She’s incredible. And even though we’re not… having sex… we’re getting physical.” If she were revealing this much detail to any other authority figure in her life, she might be more embarrassed. It still isn’t the easiest thing to discuss with someone who once administered pop quizzes to her, but Ms. Holiday has never been like anyone else. “I know some of it’s new to her— I don’t even know if I should be talking about that part with anyone, really.”  
  
“Are you saying that because it’s what you feel or because it’s what you think she would want?”  
  
“She doesn’t really like it when people talk about her.” Rachel shrugs and tries to expand. “We chat a lot online and we both have blogs and sometimes other people comment on our conversations. Occasionally, they ask rude questions and it can create conflict.”  
  
“Rachel,” big sister Holly says. “I’m not going to force you to talk about anything you don’t want to talk about. But what I’m asking is important here. Are you okay with what the two of you are doing? I appreciate your loyalty, but you need to protect yourself, first and foremost.”  
  
Rachel allows herself a moment to actually think about it, so her response isn’t just reactionary. “Yes. I like being with Quinn, I like what we do together. I like who she allows herself to be when we’re together. I just wish she’d realize that she can be that person all the time.”  
  
“Okay,” Holly says gently. “What I’m hearing is that you like everything about your summer fling except that Quinn is stubborn and moody and afraid to let herself be happy. Does that about sum it up?” She can see Tony motioning to her out of the corner of her eye, but she ignores him.  
  
“That’s an incredibly abbreviated version of it, but I suppose it’s accurate.” Rachel feels as if something’s happening behind her at the counter, but she doesn’t feel motivated to look. What Holly’s said has made her realize something. “We both know it can’t be more than that, a summer fling. And neither one of us is asking for anything else. But I feel like knowing that is keeping us from really enjoying what we have.”  
  
“Ah.” Holly takes her time with the nachos and allows Rachel to think about what she’s just admitted to herself, and then she just says, “Does that make a difference in how you want the rest of the summer to go?”  
  
“I just don’t want to spend every other day arguing with her,” Rachel admits. “Or, not arguing about anything serious, anyway. Being around Quinn means some back and forth is inevitable. It’s even fun, sometimes.”  
  
“Trust me, girlfriend, I know exactly how much fun arguing with a romantic partner can be,” Holly winks, and laughs at the way Rachel ducks her head and looks around nervously like someone might overhear them. “Seriously though, is there anything you can think of that would change it?”  
  
Rachel isn’t sure, but she has an idea. “I think maybe she’s worried I’ll get too attached. So, maybe I need to reassure her that I’m okay with what we’ve already started.”  
  
“And how would you go about doing that?”  
  
“I… don’t know.” She really doesn’t.  
  
“Okay, let’s maybe back up a second here. You’ve both already agreed that this is just a casual thing, right? And you’re not having sex, technically speaking. If it’s something both of you can really handle, it sounds like an amazing summer. If it’s not, do you think going further would make it better or worse?”  
  
Rachel doesn’t want to pick one, because she knows it’s going to be, “… worse, I suppose.” That feels like the answer she should give, but part of her wonders, “Or would it be better to approach everything without having to attach emotional sentiment to it? When I… first slept with Finn, I thought it was supposed to be this grand gesture, something that was going to be this amazing and wonderful lifelong memory. And, it… it is a good memory, but… it wasn’t everything I expected.”  
  
“That,” Holly says, “is something that everyone has to answer for themselves. Some people are perfectly fine with one night stands and casual sex, but it can do real psychological damage to others, if they try to force something that isn’t right. I’m just guessing here because you haven’t given me a lot to work with, but I’m assuming you make out, yes? How do you feel after that happens? You don’t have to compare to what you experienced with Finn if you don’t want to. That’s not what I’m getting at. My question is, does it feel right or do you feel worse after?”  
  
The answer to this one comes much more easily. “It feels right,” Rachel says. “As unsure as things seem to be when Quinn is being… Quinn… when we’re together and we’ve been… making out… afterward, everything just feels calm…”  
  
Holly smiles again. “Sounds like she makes you happy.”  
  
“She does.” Rachel’s sure the smile on her face gives her away, anyway. “And as much as I’ve said about her being stubborn and all-around obnoxious, my frustration with her is mostly because I hate when she gives up on herself, because she has so much potential.”  
  
“Keep in mind, I’m not a shrink, Rachel, but here’s what I think. I think that you should just enjoy whatever time you have with her. Enjoy your fling, and if it ends up being more or not, whatever. Be happy now. And if she can’t get out of herself long enough to commit to her own happiness, well at least you got a few weeks of mind-blowing sex.” Holly winks. “Or not. No judgement. After that… go to New York and do your thing because they’re never going to know what hit them.” She pops another nacho and adds, “and if you ever get a starring role in Chicago, I expect a personal invite, because that’s our show, sister.”  
  
Rachel nods as she takes in the advice. When the mention of Chicago comes up, she grins. “When it happens, you’ll be the top of the list,” she promises. “I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me about this.”  
  
“You know it, sweet cheeks. What else is on that little color-coded catching-up itinerary of yours?”  
  
“Oh,” Rachel sits up a little straighter, feeling as if she’s unloaded at least some of the load she’s been carrying. “When I saw you at the Farmer’s Market, you said something about making your own organic wine? Is that still happening?”  
  
Holly just grins. “I thought you’d never ask.”


	19. Digi-Z and Berrylicious on the etiquette of dinner and entertaining.

Cooking relaxes her. It always has. Her mother raised her and Frannie both to be adept at making certain dishes, and there was always some sort of roast or ham or Cornish hen on the Fabray family dinner table. Side dishes were always painstakingly planned, to say nothing of the perfect wine to bring out the flavor of the made-from-scratch Hollandaise.  
Tonight is no exception. Quinn is in her element in the kitchen, not in a Stepford Wives or Martha Stewart way, but in the same way that she used to own the top of the pyramid. It comes easy to her, yet it challenges her, timing the dishes to come out at exactly the right time, setting the table so that it looks beautiful. Tonight is no exception because tonight Rachel is standing here watching, asking questions in that wide-eyed way she has. 

From the moment Quinn pulled the front door open to find Rachel standing there in a black and white polka dotted apron with pink trim, all tan skin and teeth. Rachel Berry never halfway commits to anything. Quinn stirs and seasons while Rachel works on the salad - she insisted - next to her. It’s comfortable for Quinn, spending time with Rachel like this. No expectations, no pressure. Rachel is relaxed, and for the first time in a long time, Quinn feels happy.

Rachel’s attention is on the tomatoes in front of her. She wants them to look just like the cute wedges in the salad from her favorite Italian place, but they’re coming out more slicey than wedgey and she has to set down the knife and relax when she realizes she’s been tightly pursing her lips together in frustration.

It isn’t that Rachel doesn’t know how to cook anything. She can feed herself, she can make basic dishes, she helps her dads with meals on a regular basis. But when she makes spaghetti, there isn’t any art to it. For all the passion she expresses in performance, none of that appears in her food preparation. She looks up from her tomatoes and sees Quinn, moving effortlessly over the stove, measuring things by taste instead of the instructions on the back of a box. 

There’s more than just the standard Quinn Fabray grace to her movement. It dawns on Rachel that she’s witnessing something of a rarity, something she’s glimpsed a couple times, usually after they’ve gotten hot and heavy with each other. Quinn relaxed, comfortable, and in her element. More importantly, she’s letting Rachel see her this way.

With her gaze locked on Quinn, Rachel knocks the tomato she’s reaching for onto the floor, where it clumsily rolls toward the refrigerator. “Oh!”

Quinn hears Rachel’s gasp and turns just in time to catch sight of Rachel scrambling after a rogue tomato. She can’t help but laugh, not at Rachel, just… It’s nice, this atmosphere. That they can finally occupy the same space and not feel— any of their baggage. “Hey,” she says, once Rachel straightens up, tomato in hand. “Try this.” She extends a spoon and allows Rachel a taste, waiting with an expectant eyebrow raised. 

The sight of Quinn offering a spoon to her is new and has this unexpected effect on Rachel where it’s suddenly difficult to move, almost as if there’s more gravity than usual. It only lasts a couple of seconds and then Rachel’s easily stepping closer to Quinn and the stove top, where she wraps her fingers around the spoon but also manages some overlap over Quinn’s hand when she pulls it away to place it in her mouth.

What are they making, again? Right. Some kind of pasta, because it’s something they can both enjoy.

The sauce Quinn’s working on is made from scratch, which is a brand new experience for Rachel. As adept as her fathers can be in the kitchen, they tend to stick with Paul Newman’s line of organic sauces.

“This is amazing, Quinn.” In addition to being incredibly tasty, the sauce reminds Rachel that she’s bordering on starving and she’s all but licking the spoon clean.

Quinn isn’t even aware that her mouth is open as she stands gaping at Rachel. Whatever Rachel is doing to that spoon is just— Quinn shakes her head slightly, and her hair swooshes around her chin. “Uh,” she finally says, once she’s able to think, and takes the spoon again. “Thank you.” Cooking for Rachel, with Rachel, is something she could get used to. 

She stirs the sauce again and takes the pasta to the sink to strain it. “Could you get the bread?” She runs through her mental checklist: whole grain pasta, homemade sauce, toasted French bread with garlic and butter substitute, spring salad with homemade balsamic vinaigrette. “Oh! The wine!” 

The wine was a last minute addition, and she thought she’d surprise Rachel with it. They are both high school graduates, after all. She knows nothing about the year, but she knows that Chianti goes well with the sauce she’s made. Within seconds, she’s handing Rachel a glass and smiling. She still can’t get over the apron. 

Rachel retrieves the garlic bread from the oven, using the coordinating polka-dot oven mitt she’s brought along with her (and despite Quinn’s insistence that it’s pure overkill, because the Fabray kitchen already has all the necessary accessories), and places it in the basket that’s already been designated for it.

“Wine?” This is something she wasn’t expecting, but she decides she appreciates the added element of adulthood it brings to their meal together. “Thank you,” she says as she accepts the glass. “Shall we toast to something?”

Quinn smirks. “To oven mitts that match your apron.” She raises her glass and adds, “You do realize that we have our own, right?” 

“Yes, I’m aware,” Rachel rolls her eyes, but then taps her glass against Quinn’s and smiles at her. “Thank you for inviting me over for dinner, despite my need to coordinate to the fullest extent.”

Quinn takes a long drink and then says intently, “thank you for coming.” The usual spark she feels when she looks at Rachel is there, but she only allows herself a second to feel it before she’s gliding away to make the finishing touches on the table. The food is there, the wine. It’s perfect, and she’s happy. She doesn’t get to entertain very often, not anymore. Not since her sophomore year, really, when absolutely everything about her life changed. 

“Okay,” she says, “I think we’re set. Are you hungry?”

“Thank god,” Rachel says, eyeing the spread as she removes her still-clean apron. “I’m starving.”

Maybe it’s the wine or perhaps the conversation Rachel had with Holly about everything, but tonight feels different, lighter than usual. It’s possible that it also has something to do with Quinn being at home, away from the rest of the world. Whatever the case, the meal moves along smoothly, with easy conversation about nothing in particular until Rachel’s stomach is full and her plate is empty.

Her glass was also empty a moment ago, but it’s now refilled and there’s already light buzz coursing through her. She feels good. She feels nice. “Dinner was outstanding, Quinn.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Quinn was raised to do the dishes right away. Never leave a job overnight that you can do now, Quinn’s father used to say. And then he would retire to the den and a glass of brandy, and her mother would retreat into her bottle of wine, and Quinn would be left to clear the table and wash the dishes. Well, with Rachel and the wine and her mother out “playing bridge,” Quinn isn’t interested in following any of her father’s orders tonight. This is a job that’s getting left overnight. 

She pushes up from the table and walks the plates to the sink. The leftover pasta and salad can’t be left out, but everything else is doomed. By the time she’s finished, Rachel’s glass is empty again and she’s still sitting in her seat and just kind of smiling lazily. It’s exactly the kind of situation that affords her some room to let her guard down, and she allows herself to smile softly back. 

She finally laces their fingers and tugs. “Come on,” she says, and leads Rachel to the living room. 

“Okay.” Right now, Rachel’s content to follow Quinn without any real curiosity or concern about what their evening holds for them. She trusts that it will be something worthwhile, even if they just end up sitting and talking. And maybe kissing. She really likes kissing Quinn.

They’re not going far— only to the couch, where Quinn drops down and tucks her legs up underneath her. She picks up the television remote and then realizes that Rachel is still standing there, staring at her. 

“Um,” Quinn says. “Do you not— are you ready to go home? I could drive you.” She drops the remote on the table. “It’s okay if you don’t want to stay. I shouldn’t have assumed.” 

“… what? Oh, no I…” Rachel takes the remaining few steps to the couch and sits down, next to Quinn. “I was just watching you. Or… that sounds weird. I meant… I like looking at you.” Her hand rests on Quinn’s arm. “ I’m not ready to go home.”

There’s the smile again, the one that she can’t help. The one that has her glad that Rachel is tipsy because if she realized how Quinn is looking at her right now… Quinn lifts her arm so that there’s enough room for Rachel and murmurs, “Come here?”

Rachel tucks herself against Quinn and drapes her arm over Quinn’s stomach. There’s a content sigh before she asks, “This one counts as a date, right?” She isn’t even sure why there’s a need for clarification from one day’s activity to the next, but she wants to know.

Quinn’s first instinct is to bristle at the word ‘date,’ but Rachel doesn’t mean anything by it, and it’s just the two of them. Or at least that’s what she tells herself. She doesn’t like it, but she’s determined to get through one whole day without being a total bitch. She pulls Rachel tight against her, her arm wrapped around Rachel’s shoulders. “This one can be a date, Rach. If you want.” 

She automatically runs her fingers through the ends of Rachel’s hair and closes her eyes just so she can feel. If only every day could be like this. 

There’s another sigh, this time at the feeling of Quinn playing with her hair. Rachel raises her head, just enough to kiss Quinn’s cheek. “I wish your name was longer,” she muses. “Then I’d be able to use a nickname for you.” It’s something she’s actually considered before this moment, she’s just kept it to herself.

Quinn tries to remember anyone ever kissing her cheek before. It seems like it would be something school girls would do on the playground, but when Rachel does it, it’s feels grown up. Affectionate. No one has ever showed this much interest in just being with her before, and it’s making her kind of dizzy. 

She doesn’t open her eyes, and her fingers don’t stop what they’re doing. “You could always call me ‘Q.’ A lot of people do. Mostly jocks, but still.” 

“Q.” Rachel draws it out, as much as she can a single letter, to see how it sounds. She hums, considering it, then kisses Quinn’s cheek, again, much closer to the jawline. “It’s short and sweet. But I’m not sure. Maybe I want to go with something longer, but incredibly specific. Like Shutterbug Fabray.” She giggles at herself, then nuzzles Quinn’s neck.

Rachel is too busy nuzzling to see Quinn’s eyes roll. “Do not call me that.” 

“Snapshot? Darkroom? Digital Zoom?” There’s another giggle from Rachel. “No, that’s your rap name. DZQ.”

“Rachel Berry. You are drunk.”

“That’s because you served wine at dinner, Digi-Z.”

Quinn cracks an eye. “I don’t think I like your tone.”

“My tone is always perfect,” Rachel replies, lifting her head back up to brush her lips over Quinn’s ear. “And yours is always a turn-on.”

The shiver that goes through her body runs so deep, it feels like it’s ingrained in her muscles. “Rachel,” she breathes. Those lips brush over her ear again, and she’s pulling Rachel back enough to look at her. With the way Rachel’s lips are parted and her breath already fast and shallow, Quinn has to close her eyes again to regain her thoughts. When she opens them again, she cups Rachel’s face and focuses intently. “Hey,” she says softly. Rachel is exactly what silk would look like if it could walk and talk. She scratches her nails lightly against Rachel’s neck. “You’ve been… drinking.” 

“So have you.” Rachel can’t come up with any other words because Quinn is looking at her with such easy concern that all Rachel can think about is how perfect Quinn is, which is something of a standard for her, but it’s incredibly apparent at the moment. “I’m not drunk,” she defends. “Just… nice.”

It might be a couple-y thing to do, but she can’t help it; she runs her fingers through Rachel’s hair and tucks it behind her ear. “That may be so, but I think that I’d like tonight just to be… uncomplicated.” The word choice is hilarious because so far they’ve each had their hand down the other’s pants and this is most complicated night they’ve had so far, in Quinn’s estimation. “Okay?”

Rachel leans forward until her nose bumps Quinn’s, then she kisses her, just once, before pulling back. “Okay.” As much as she’s a fan of their recent habit of getting off together, she likes the idea of spending the rest of the evening sitting on the couch, especially if cuddling is an option. “But then you’re going to need to entertain me.” She doesn’t really require entertainment beyond what they’re already doing, but she’s curious to see how Quinn responds.

Quinn clicks the television on without looking and lifts an eyebrow. And when Rachel settles against her again, she doesn’t even really care what’s on; she’s just happy to be sitting here with Rachel’s arms around her and her head tucked against her shoulder. “I didn’t say you couldn’t kiss me,” Quinn says in a low voice. “I just… don’t want to go any further tonight. I just wanted to be with you.”

In light of everything, it’s one of the hardest things she’s ever said, and she really only finds the courage because of the wine. It feels like the most intimate moment she’s ever had with another human being, and the fact that it’s Rachel makes her shiver. 

The admission has Rachel smiling against Quinn’s neck as a heated tingle shoots through her. Quinn wants to be with her. And she wants to be with Quinn. “I think that sounds like a fantastic idea.” She repositions her head so she can see the television to find that it’s on the Food Network. Her fingers glide back and forth over a particular section of Quinn’s shirt as she takes in the reality that it’s just the two of them, being together.

Rachel’s fingers against her shirt make her eyes drift closed again. She can smell shampoo that’s different from her own, can feel Rachel’s body pressing against her. The thought crosses her mind to make sure to offer Rachel more wine, but she doesn’t make the connection that it’s because she doesn’t want her to go home. “I’m glad you’re here,” is the closest she can get to wrapping her head around that particular development.

“Me, too,” Rachel agrees. Now that she’s settled, she’s convinced she could stay, right here, all night.

“Hey.” With Quinn a little less guarded than usual, Rachel sees an opportunity. “Tell me something about you that I don’t know. Doesn’t have to be serious… It could be that you collect Backstreet Boys remixes on vinyl. Although, for some people, that might be serious. Don’t tell Blaine I told you.” Or was it something everyone already knew? Her recall abilities are a little hazy. “Maybe that’s not a secret.”

What does she say to that? How is she supposed to answer that question when her entire life is a secret? Rachel might as well have asked for her life story. She could say that she’s double jointed or that she spent her childhood with her nose buried in a book or that she found a hollow pineapple, of all things, to put in Patrick Starfish’s bowl last week. There are so many things Quinn could say, but when she opens her mouth, what comes out is, “I’ve been putting all of my money in a bank account in Beth’s name.”

She says it quietly, like she’s ashamed. Maybe she is. Or maybe she’s just embarrassed that she’s not even allowed to speak to her own daughter, that she had it in her grasp and she— 

She laughs, but she has no idea why. 

That’s not the type of information Rachel’s expecting. “I was… aiming for something along the lines of your go-to shower song… But,” Rachel sits up, her eyes roaming Quinn’s face. “Quinn, that little girl is so lucky to have you interested in her life.”

Quinn can feel her throat tightening, and this is just not the night for something so heavy. She does her best to shrug it off. “When she gets older, maybe she’ll want to meet me on her own. In the meantime, the best I can do is put aside something for her—” She was going to say college. “Future.” Much safer. 

“She will.” There’s absolutely no way Rachel can actually know what Beth will want to do, but she doesn’t care. She has experience on her side. “And she will never have to wonder what you’re like or where you are, because the second she’s ready, you’ll be right there.”

It’s quiet between them, other than an ad for the newest episode of Iron Chef announcing itself through the lowered volume of the television. There’s so much more she wants to say to reassure Quinn that she’s doing the absolute best she can with what she’s been given, but Quinn doesn’t really appear to be comfortable with this topic, even Rachel can see that in her inebriated state, so she does her best to keep things light. “I’m still waiting on that shower song revelation, you know.”

Quinn smiles and kisses Rachel’s head. She knows what Rachel is doing, understands on a basic level that she’s keeping things light on purpose. “Not everyone sings in the shower, Rach.” She’s still raking her fingers through the ends of Rachel’s hair when she adds, “I do sing when I’m cooking sometimes.”

“Barry White?” Rachel asks, smirk tugging on her lips. “Or, no… maybe some Kanye… I can see that.” She hums the intro to Stronger and then it must be the wine because hip hop really isn’t one of her performance strengths, but she jumps right into, “Let’s get lost tonight, you can be my black Kate Moss tonight, play secretary I’m the boss tonight, you don’t give a fuck what they all say, right?” As soon as the reality of what she’s just done catches up to her, she dissolves into giggles and buries her face against Quinn’s chest. 

This is an entirely new side of Rachel, and Quinn isn’t sure whether she should be shocked or just kiss her really hard. 

When she finally recovers, she murmurs, “Does that mean that I’m the Christian in Christian Dior?” When that only makes Rachel giggle harder, she quirks an eyebrow. “And I thought I was the one with the rapper name. What are we going to call you?” she says and pinches Rachel’s ribs. 

“Berrylicious,” Rachel immediately answers, twisting away from Quinn’s fingers. At the raised eyebrow she receives in response, she shrugs. “I have to always be ready for whatever my upcoming career might throw my way.”

“And you think your upcoming career might throw you Berrylicious?”

Rachel sits up so she can look Quinn in the eye. “Are you doubting my hip hop abilities?”

“God, please don’t take that as a challenge,” Quinn says, pulling at Rachel to get her to cuddle back into her. “There’s no doubt in my mind that you can perform well in every single musical category there is.” She’s trying to act annoyed, but deep down - and maybe it’s the wine talking - but she really thinks this is all totally endearing. 

“Damn right, I can.” Rachel allows Quinn to draw her back in. As she rests her head back down against Quinn’s shoulder, she’s hit with a thought about talents that aren’t her own. “Tell me more about this Chicago photography contest.”

“It’s sexy when you swear,” Quinn tells her as Rachel’s arm wraps around her waist again. “The contest is just… it’s not a big deal. The winner from each state goes to Chicago for a week and there’s another show. The winner from that goes on to Paris and gets an apprenticeship with a professional photographer. It’s different every year. I think the last one went to London for his apprenticeship.” 

“Quinn!” Rachel’s only just gotten comfortable in Quinn’s embrace, but she can’t help that she rockets back upright. “There’s a possibility that you could go to Paris? As in France? Not the one that’s in Texas, right?” She doesn’t even wait for Quinn to answer any of her questions. “You’re right. It’s not a big deal. It’s an enormous opportunity.”

Quinn laughs. “It’s not the one in Texas,” she says, but she can feel her cheeks reddening. “It’s such a long shot, though. It’s basically one in fifty.” She bites her lip. “If I make it to Chicago.” What Quinn doesn’t tell her is how close she was to submitting one of the shots she took of Rachel instead of that row of storefronts. 

“You’re talented,” Rachel says, narrowing her eyes and doing her best to look stern. “Deal with it.” She leans forward until she has to close her eyes because she can’t focus on Quinn’s face, anymore. “I’m proud of you,” she says, before softly kissing Quinn.

Maybe it’s the actual words or the way Rachel’s eyes flutter at the last second or the softness of her lips. Or maybe it’s just that she sounds as full of confidence when she talks about Quinn’s future as she does when she talks about her own. Whatever it is has Quinn whimpering softly against Rachel’s mouth and winding her fingers into that hair, tilting her head and deepening the kiss as much as she can. This is one of those times that makes her think if she can’t have more of this moment, her heart will stop beating all together. 

Rachel grips Quinn’s shoulder to steady herself, because the kiss is already the dizzying type without the added element of inebriation. What Quinn said earlier, about not going any further tonight, echoes in her mind. She’s completely on board with that but, ironically, the fact that Quinn is watching out for her just makes Rachel want her, that much more. But, for now, she can abide by what’s been established and stick with kissing. A lot of kissing. Hours of it, if possible.

It takes every bit of will power Quinn has to keep herself from pulling Rachel into her lap. She can’t explain why that idea is so appealing to her, not even to herself, but every time they kiss, all she can think about is how Rachel’s lithe, fit body feels on top of her. Tonight is no exception. She breaks them apart so she can catch her breath, but holds Rachel close by the back of her neck. When Rachel traces Quinn’s jawline to her neck and nuzzles into her, Quinn says, “I love the way you see me, Rach. No one else has ever—” 

She can’t possibly finish her thought. She feels Rachel’s tongue on her neck, and whatever it was is lost forever.

When Rachel hears Quinn’s words drop off into a soft groan, she smiles, though she’s definitely curious about whatever the end of that sentence was supposed to be. She continues to trail open mouthed kisses upward toward Quinn’s ear. “I see you exactly the way you are, Q.” This is her first time using the nickname. She still isn’t sure if it’s right, but she’s content with it for now.

Hearing Rachel call her Q sends a jolt all the way down her back. Rachel bites lightly on her ear, and she can’t help but make a noise of approval. “You see me better than I am,” she corrects. She grips tighter and tugs at Rachel’s neck, pulling her up into a kiss. Her hand on Rachel’s waist squeezes, and then her thumb is under the fabric, rubbing tiny circles on the skin beneath. “You always have,” she says breathlessly before pressing her mouth to Rachel’s once again. 

Rachel wants to explain herself, to list out every single reason why her opinion of Quinn is based on what she sees, not what other people say. But to do that would mean removing her lips from Quinn’s, in order to speak, and she really has no interest in doing that. The grip on the back of her neck is fueling her further, giving her drive to deepen the kiss and wind her fingers through Quinn’s hair. 

They kiss for as long as Quinn dares, and it’s only when the hand on Rachel’s waist wants to slide upward on its own and explore more fully that she finally breaks away. She rests her forehead against Rachel’s and closes her eyes. Her body is buzzing and her breath is coming in bursts. This is what perfection feels like. 

“Stay here tonight,” she asks and tucks her hair behind her ear. 

The request (is it even a question?) makes Rachel’s breath catch, not because it’s outrageous, but because she isn’t expecting it. She was already prepared to take the necessary steps in sobering up for one hour per drink, plus an additional safety hour, which would have her leaving well into the night. So, staying over makes sense. But it also makes her heart beat a little faster.

“Here as in… on this couch? Or here as in,” she tucks herself more tightly against Quinn, “… right here?”

Quinn flexes her arms, holds Rachel close. “Right here,” she murmurs. God, she needs another glass of wine.

Halfway through an episode of Chopped, Rachel’s lying against Quinn who’s leaning against the armrest of the sofa. It’s a little difficult to watch the show through the two nearly empty wine glasses that sit on the coffee table, but Rachel’s following along enough to have an opinion. “You should go on this,” she decides. “Go on it and win.”

The amazing thing is, Rachel seems completely serious. Quinn laughs. “You think I should go on Chopped? Are you sure that you don’t just want a free trip to some exotic land or a pile of commemorative bling out of this deal?” 

The wine is doing its job, and Quinn feels good. They could be watching paint dry, and she wouldn’t care. Her fingers don’t stop moving against Rachel’s arm. 

“No!” Rachel protests. “I don’t want that. I want to be able to say, ‘You see her? That girl who just won? I know her. And she— she’s also a phenomenal kisser.’ And then maybe you can buy me a bracelet.” She closes her eyes and lets the combined feeling of the alcohol and Quinn’s gentle touch wash over her. “Doesn’t have to be Tiffany.”

Quinn’s laughter rumbles up through her, and the sound surprises her for a second. When was the last time she sounded this happy? “It doesn’t, huh? I’ll keep that in mind,” she tells Rachel. “Maybe I could get you something from that bank of machines by the door in the grocery store.” Rachel shoots her a look and she laughs again. “What? There’s some pretty good stuff in there.”

There’s a sigh of defeat and Rachel says, “Fine. But then I want one of everything. Gum. Stickers. Those little alien people. Temporary tattoos.” That makes her instinctively look at the words on her wrist. “Do you ever write anything, anymore?” she asks. Her attention span is apparently limited when she’s three glasses deep into the house Chianti. “Songs, I mean.”

Quinn follows Rachel’s gaze and brushes her fingers against the ink on Rachel’s wrist. “That was more of a one-time deal for me, I think,” she says slowly. And then, because she likes the look of that tattoo on Rachel, “Will you get more? Tattoos, I mean.” 

Rachel pulls in a deep, slow breath as Quinn touches her tattoo. For some reason, the contact feels incredibly heightened. “I think so. I’d like to get more of that. The lyrics. I’m just unsure about where I’ll put them.”

Rachel’s reaction isn’t lost on Quinn, and before she can stop herself, she slowly lifts Rachel’s hand and presses her mouth to the words there. “Have you thought about where else you want them?” Quinn asks in a low voice, searching Rachel’s eyes intently. 

“I…” Rachel’s gaze is caught up in Quinn’s and she can’t seem to get her voice to cooperate. She blinks, which seems to help. A little. “I can’t have them anywhere too conspicuous. So, anywhere that’s… not usually out in the open.”

“And here I thought you were trying to boost your street cred, Berrylicious.” 

“Oh, and just where would you suggest I put the entire bridge to that particular Berry-Fabray collaboration? On my neck?”

“Well, we can always take that location for a test drive. Where on your neck?” Quinn smirks and kisses Rachel’s neck exactly how she kissed her wrist. “Here?” 

Rachel hums as she tilts her head, exposing more skin to Quinn. “Not sure. Keep going.”

“Yeah?” Quinn kisses again and this time, adds the slightest pressure by sucking. “Feel good, Rach?” With the way that Rachel is reacting, Quinn knows that it must, but for some reason it’s also incredibly sexy to her to talk about it while it’s happening. 

“Quinn…” Rachel breathes out the name as her fingers walk themselves up along the back of Quinn’s neck. “It’s… yes, it’s good.” She doesn’t care if Quinn leaves one hickey or twenty. “Don’t stop.” 

“God, Rach.” Quinn only stops long enough to push the words out. “The way you sound…” She couldn’t even describe it if she wanted to, so instead she just sets her determination on keeping Rachel in that state for as long as possible. With that in mind, she sucks particularly hard in one spot and then licks at it with her tongue. Giving someone a hickey isn’t something she’s done before, and she’s desperate to get it right. 

A short but audible whine finds it’s way out of Rachel’s mouth as the suction increases. She has no words, but plenty of sounds similar to the one she’s just made. Quinn isn’t even touching her anywhere else, other than the way she’s holding Rachel against her, but Rachel’s body is definitely reacting. It may have something to do with the fact that Quinn’s trying to mark her, that after tonight, there will be a lingering memento of this encounter left on her skin, something she’ll see every time she looks in the mirror over the next couple of days. Normally, she’d be annoyed, especially if she had any kind of public appearances that needed to be made. But she isn’t and she doesn’t. 

Instead, the knowledge of what’s happening just makes her want it more.

Now that Rachel is squirming and breathless, Quinn decides to go in for the kill. As she kisses her way across Rachel’s neck, she murmurs, “By the way, it’s Fabray-Berry,” and then settles down low, just above her collarbone. She has to pull Rachel’s shirt down to get enough access to this spot, and when she does, Rachel reacts again in that same way that melts Quinn from the inside, out. 

After leaving a faint mark there, she presses her lips to Rachel’s ear and breathes, “Rach, you’re trembling,” before kissing back down and sucking again at the same spot. Rachel’s neck is salty with sweat, and if she’s honest with herself, Rachel isn’t the only one who’s trembling. 

A shaky breath pushes out of Rachel’s lungs and she grips Quinn tightly to get some kind of bearing. “If we don’t want to…” She wets her lips and tries again. “If I’m supposed to keep my hands out of your pants tonight, we should maybe… watch tv.” This is unusual for her, this borderline lack of control. 

With Finn and Jesse, she called the shots. Even though she was new to so much when she dated each of them, she knew her limits and stayed true to her own boundaries. It isn’t that she doesn’t have any now. She’s just having a harder time justifying to herself why they’re even necessary. At least in this case, Quinn’s drawn a clear line and Rachel appreciates it, despite the fact that she absolutely wouldn’t object to much of anything tonight. Which is possibly exactly why Quinn placed a limit on their physical activities for the evening.

Rachel’s words make Quinn groan out loud. She reluctantly pulls back, but keeps her fingers working over Rachel’s tattoo. She wouldn’t say it out loud, not now at any rate, but the fact that Rachel has part of their song etched permanently into her skin stirs something in her. 

“Okay, yeah,” she says, closing her eyes. “You’re right. Let’s just— cool off a little.” She smirks. “I guess that’s a yes for tattoo placement.”

With the help of a few slow and deep breaths, Rachel relaxes into Quinn. “I think I’d much rather leave that area to you and your mouth than to someone with a needle.”

Quinn nuzzles into her. There’s something about that idea that just— 

“Are you saying that that area is all mine?”

“I think I still technically claim ownership. But I don’t plan to let anyone else leave hickies there in the near future. Or anywhere else, for that matter.” Rachel peeks up at Quinn. “The short answer is yes.”

There’s a shyness in Rachel’s eyes that appeals to Quinn on so many different levels, and she kisses Rachel’s nose softly. “Good,” she says, and she means it. The thought of anyone else touching Rachel the way that she lets Quinn touch her makes her feel physically ill. “I don’t want anyone else leaving hickies there.” There’s a nagging thought that once Rachel leaves for New York, Quinn won’t exactly have a say in who gets to kiss Rachel like that, but she swats it away. 

They’re together for now, and there’s no reason to ruin it with worries about what’s going to happen. It is what it was always meant to be, and that’s all. 

Rachel lies there, wrapped up in Quinn’s arms while the Food Network plays on, pitting amateur chefs against each other.

In general, she’s all about being her own woman, but the idea that Quinn wants some part of her for herself gives Rachel a feeling of security, even if it is just pillow talk. Or sofa talk, anyway. “I really do hope you get to go to Paris. I think you’d love it. Not that I’ve ever been. But the movies make it look like something you’d enjoy.” She closes with a yawn that she attempts to suppress.

Quinn’s fingers are in Rachel’s hair again, and she’s humming her agreement that, yes, she probably would like Paris very much. But Paris has nothing on Rachel Berry right now. 

“Are you tired? We can go upstairs,” Quinn offers softly. 

“I’m… not ready to sleep, yet.” Rachel wonders what Quinn means by upstairs. “But, it might be nice to get something to change into. If you have something that you don’t mind me borrowing. I wasn’t planning on drinking, so I didn’t bring anything. Though, I do have a toothbrush in my bag, for general brushing after meals.” She’s rambling almost as if she’s nervous, which… she doesn’t feel like she is. But Quinn makes her feel a range of emotions she isn’t particularly expecting, so this really isn’t unusual.

“I have a t-shirt and some shorts you can sleep in. Whenever you’re ready. Is there… anything else you need?”

Rachel considers anything else she might require. “Is it the wrong time to request that you follow up on your offer to sing a particular Marvin Gaye number?”

There’s that laugh again, rumbling up through Quinn’s chest. It happens so much around Rachel that Quinn is starting to think of it as ‘Rachel’s laugh.’ 

“I’ll tell you what. Come get ready for bed, and I’ll sing it to you after.” She pulls Rachel up off the couch and leads her to the stairs. “Deal?”

“Deal,” Rachel agrees as she trails behind Quinn, their hands linked together. She wants to ask where Judy is this evening, but she’s fairly certain she must be out all night if Quinn’s this comfortable having Rachel around until the morning.

When they reach the top of the stairs, she’s presented with multiple closed doors and she feels as if she’s just been presented with a clear visual representation of life in the Fabray house. “Which one’s yours?” Her own bedroom door at home is identifiable by the twelve-inch gold foil star that’s been fixed to it since her sixth birthday. But none of the doors in front of her have a “Q” or a “Go Cheerios!” bumper sticker to make it stand out from the rest.

“This one,” Quinn says, and pushes the door to her bedroom open. Before she can turn to tell Rachel that she’ll be in the guest room next door, Rachel is brushing past her and suddenly wide brown eyes are taking in Quinn’s personal space. Quinn is frozen in the doorway, her tongue still stuck on the words ‘guest bedroom.’ She blinks and tries to grasp what’s happening; she only meant to get Rachel some clothes for tonight. Opening herself up like this is completely foreign to Quinn, but Rachel seems to be completely at ease. “Um, okay. Come in, I guess.” 

If Quinn is concerned about Rachel learning too much about her by viewing the inside of her bedroom, there isn’t much to worry about. Maybe on any other given day, it would be an issue, but tonight, Rachel’s a little bit drunk and easily distracted.

“Is that Patrick?” Rachel pads over to the small fish tank and bends down to look inside. “Hi, Patrick!” She tosses a glance over her shoulder at Quinn. “You didn’t tell me you got him a pineapple. It’s perfect!”

The panic Quinn feels rising up in her chest at having her space invaded constricts once, hard, and then just evaporates slowly into nothing. Like it was never even there. Rachel’s reaction to Patrick is easily one of the most adorable things she’s ever witnessed. She bites her lip and allows herself to soak in Rachel’s excitement— her bubbly, childlike joy over something as simple as a goldfish won at the county fair— oh god. The fair. 

The smile in her eyes is lost when she remembers. She’d made Rachel feel horrible— she’d made herself feel horrible. That day had every chance of being the most perfect day ever, and it was, right up until Kristine had seen them. Watching Rachel now with the memento from that day— the prize that Rachel won her… she doesn’t feel regret or embarrassment or even sadness. No, what Quinn feels is anger, pure and simple. She should never have let someone she doesn’t even speak to anymore dictate her own happiness. It was weak, and it almost cost Quinn one of the best things that’s ever happened to her. 

The thing that right now is currently about to turn a cartwheel because of her excitement over a plastic pineapple. “Do you like it?” she asks, even though she already knows the answer. 

“I love it,” Rachel says, without hesitation. “And it looks like Patrick loves it, too. Has he been fed, yet?” She’s already reaching for the plastic jar of fish food that’s next to the aquarium. Downstairs, she was fighting sleep, but now she’s gotten a second wind after seeing Patrick Star in his element. “May I?” she asks, giving the clear canister of flakes a shake. “I always wanted a pet, but that was the one thing we never had, because I was always going to dance classes or rehearsals or school.”

Watching Rachel’s excitement burns something in Quinn, deep in her chest, far past where her heart beats. It’s deeper than anything she’s ever felt, and the only thing she knows is that she wishes that she could be like that. She wishes she could be filled with that kind of passion over anything. 

Rachel shakes out Patrick’s food and gives Quinn a breathless, glowing smile, and Quinn feels weak all over. “You’re so beautiful,” is the only thing she can think of to say. She wishes it weren’t so awkward, the way she blurts it out, but it doesn’t make it any less true. She doesn’t know anyone else who could turn feeding a goldfish into a look of pure radiance. It’s nothing short of magic. 

The abruptness of the observation makes Rachel fumble with the fish food, but she saves it before any of it spills onto the floor. She tugs on one side of her lip with her teeth, but the other is pulling upward into a smile as she caps the container and places it back next to the tank. Not only does Quinn think she’s beautiful, she’s just said so. In person.

Saying “thank you” doesn’t seem like enough, so Rachel doesn’t say anything at all. She wordlessly steps over to Quinn and puts both hands on either side of Quinn’s face, before kissing her. This is becoming a common method of reply and she hopes Quinn continues to find it acceptable.

Quinn returns the kiss, sweet and tender. She loves kissing Rachel, loves the way Rachel makes her feel, but she can’t forget that they’re in her bedroom, and she’s careful to keep her sense of control. When she finally breaks them apart, it’s with the thought of getting Rachel’s pajamas for her to change into so they can lie down and get some sleep. 

She fishes a McKinley cheer t-shirt and some cutoffs out of her drawer. “These should work. You’re much smaller than me, so I hope they’re not too big. The bathroom is through there, and the— the guest bedroom…” It suddenly seems wrong, sending Rachel to the guest bedroom to sleep. “Unless you’re not comfortable, and then I can probably figure something else out.” 

“Hmm,” Rachel pushes her eyebrows together in an exaggerated display of contemplation. “I think I’ll be okay. But if you’re really looking to be a proper hostess, then after I change, you’ll follow through on your promise to entertain me with song.” She gives the front of Quinn’s shirt a tug. “Meet me in the guest room in about three minutes, okay?” She’s two steps out the door before she realizes she has no idea which one is the guest room. “Um, where is it?”

Quinn laughs her Rachel laugh again. “On the other side of the bathroom, dork. Three minutes.” She winks. “I don’t break my promises.” 

After Rachel huffs in mock annoyance and disappears behind the door, Quinn gets herself ready for bed and keeps an eye on the clock. Three minutes. Of course Rachel’s bedtime routine is perfectly timed to three minutes. She waits the three minutes. She waits longer than that, until she hears total silence, and then knocks softly on the guest room door. “Rach?” She has no idea why, but she feels nervous about this. 

Rachel’s in the middle of hanging up her dress, so she says, “You can come in.” As the door opens, she feels the need to explain why she’s halfway in the closet of the Fabray guest room. “I noticed there were hangars and I’ll have to wear this home tomorrow… I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Quinn answers and leans against the doorjamb to wait for Rachel to finish up. “I have a strict lullaby policy. I’ll only sing if you’re in bed with the lights out.” 

Once Rachel has her dress hung up, she crawls into the guest bed, which Quinn has turned down. Quinn nudges the light switch with her elbow and plunges the room into darkness. This song is embarrassing enough to sing without having to try and negotiate eye contact on top of it. Rachel finally settles and Quinn settles right along side of her, draping her arm over Rachel’s waist. “Standard protocol for lullabies. Is it okay?” 

Rachel doesn’t have to do anything but sigh dreamily, and Quinn knows that she’s right on the money with this little scenario Rachel has playing out in her head. She squeezes once, lightly, and begins to sing.


	20. Breakthrough

Dr. Radcliffe’s office is exactly the same. Same couch, same save-yourself bookcase, same Mexican movie posters. Dr. Radcliffe herself doesn’t look any different either, studying Quinn over the tops of her frameless glasses, elbows on her desk like she’s afraid she’s going to miss some clue that will forever unlock the all encompassing mystery that is Quinn Fabray.

The only thing different about this session is Quinn herself. Specifically, Quinn’s mental space and how she’s handling the way her relationship with Rachel has progressed. She’s fully prepared for this week to be all about that and how she’s coping. She’s ready. Or, well, she thinks she is.

Carolyn is accustomed to speaking first, not just with Quinn, but with many of her patients. She knows today’s session will open the same way they always have with Quinn. The difference, though, is that Quinn actually looks prepared to talk.

“How was your week?”

Quinn steels herself. She isn’t playing with her phone this week. She won’t be staring at Dr. Radcliffe’s posters. No avoiding questions or the answers that scare the absolute shit out of her. She’s running out of time, and she needs a return on this investment, now. “It was good. Parts of it were great, even.” She doesn’t want to leave anything out. “Confusing. Scary.” She shrugs. “It’s been a pretty full week.”

Carolyn sits up, a little surprised at Quinn’s immediate response. “All right. Would you like to start with the highs or the lows?” She has a feeling this may be, at least partially, connected to Rachel. But she also knows Quinn has other interests and factors to be considered.

Quinn smiles easily. It isn’t pinched or unnatural looking, but it’s a little too wide to be sincere. She has control of herself right now, but that’s it. She has no idea where to go from here. “What do you want to know?” Before Dr. Radcliffe can react, Quinn says, “I’m not trying to pick a fight. I honestly don’t know how to start.”

The smile, even if it is slightly exaggerated, has Carolyn even more curious about the week’s events. “I’d like to know what happened that has you willing to share. I have to be honest and say that this is something of a rarity with you. You value your privacy and I know it takes a lot for you to put yourself on display for me to evaluate. So,” she smiles at Quinn, “you certainly have my attention.”

“Well,” Quinn says dryly, “I haven’t shared anything yet, have I?” She really doesn’t know where to begin. “I guess I’m mostly scared that if I wait too long, I won’t be able to talk about it at all.” She has a feeling that Dr. Radcliffe is following along just fine— she’s a successful, intelligent psychiatrist, after all— but just to make sure they’re on the same page, she adds softly, “She’s leaving in a few weeks.”

“Rachel.” Carolyn nods. “All right. Why don’t we work chronologically, then? Just tell me about your week, from the beginning.”

“Rachel,” Quinn confirms, and she can hear the heaviness in her own voice. If she can hear it, then Dr. Radcliffe definitely can. “We climbed the rock wall at the fitness center. We’re both very competitive by nature, and it was fun, once we got past whether it should be considered a date or not.” Quinn pauses and lets the look on her face serve as a type of challenge on its own, though for what, she couldn’t say. It might be the need she feels to curl all things Rachel into a ball inside of her to defend, or it might just be two strong personalities standing toe to toe.

“What did you determine? About the date?”

Quinn laughs. “I think she let me believe that I won, actually. But she bought me a smoothie, and it was basically a date.” The second she says the word out loud, smoothie, she remembers Rachel’s text, firm and angry telling her that it was just a damn smoothie. And then, it’s only natural, the thought progression from there, to what they did after that, and Quinn can feel the blush creeping up her neck. It’s very hot in Dr. Radcliffe’s office. It’s always hot in Dr. Radcliffe’s office. She fights to keep from fanning herself, struggles to keep her thoughts from Rachel’s one-handed texting. Why is it so difficult to control her thoughts when she’s in this room?

It’s impossible not to notice Quinn’s reaction, though Carolyn isn’t quite sure what she’s reacting to. “And were you all right with that particular outcome?”

The question is slightly tricky, and Quinn thinks about it for a minute. “I enjoy hanging out with her,” she says slowly. “But… no. I’m not okay with it being a date.”  
“And why is that?”

Quinn levels Dr. Radcliffe with a look that hopefully communicates the full extent of her annoyance. “Why do you think I wouldn’t want to date Rachel Berry, Carolyn?”

“From what you’ve told me in our sessions, you haven’t been dating anyone since your junior year, so I’m asking if this is simply you not wanting to date anyone or you not wanting to date Rachel.” Carolyn adjusts her glasses before she looks down to make a short note.

“Rachel. The Rachel who is leaving the state in a few weeks to move six hundred miles away, you mean? That Rachel?”

“So, because she’s moving out of state, you’re uncomfortable going on individual dates with her? Even though you aren’t even in a relationship?” Carolyn may have reviewed a few things in Quinn’s file earlier in the day.

This topic is slowly slipping out of Quinn’s control, and she fights to maintain her composure. “What I am uncomfortable with is dating someone who is about to go begin a whole new life in a few weeks while I stay behind in Lima like a dutiful girlfriend.” She bites out the last few words like they’re the most bitter thing she’s ever tasted and then holds up her hand to stop any objection that Dr. Radcliffe might have. “Before you ask, I also refuse to follow someone that distance with no real plans of my own just because I happen to like the way it feels to suck on her—”

It’s just a flash, but it’s enough. Quinn’s eyes widen in shock and her mouth clamps shut immediately. Fantastic. She almost said— fuck. She can’t believe what she almost said. She wraps her arms around her ribs to protect herself as much as she can, but the fight this was intended to be is over. She’s wounded now, and her tactics have to change, or she’s dead for sure. She takes a second to regain her composure and then looks at Dr. Radcliffe helplessly.

“I can’t,” is all she can say.

“Okay, let’s…” Even Carolyn is caught off-guard by everything that’s suddenly been thrust out into the open. Quinn may have only offered little more than an abruptly unfinished sentence, but there’s plenty to work with. “Let’s slow down and take it one thing at a time,” her voice is calm and soothing. “Why do you assume you’re expected to act like a girlfriend if you haven’t agreed to a relationship? Don’t you think there can be a difference between a committed relationship and allowing someone to take you out because they enjoy your company? Especially when you profess to enjoy theirs, as well?”

There’s plenty more under the surface of all of this. Carolyn suspects that Quinn actually does want a relationship, but the situation won’t allow for one that doesn’t require long-distance effort and that means trust is necessary. Trust is one of Quinn’s key issues. Or, really, a lack of it. Given everything she’s watched Quinn endure ever since their first session, Carolyn can’t really blame her. Quinn’s natural instinct to distance herself has only been reinforced over time. She wants to know more about Rachel, as she’s the one who seems to make Quinn react, for better or for worse. The fact that Quinn allows her close enough to generate any kind of sincere reaction is certainly telling. But she needs Quinn to figure this out for herself.

“I think there’s a difference between allowing someone to take you out because they enjoy your company and allowing nearly every encounter with that person to turn into a sexual situation,” Quinn sighs. “I assume that I’m supposed to act like a girlfriend because the things that always end up happening between us are things that traditionally happen within the boundaries of an established relationship.” It’s easy for Quinn to slip into clinical mode. She’s heard enough industry jargon during her few years with Dr. Radcliffe to be able to address some of these issues technically, and honestly it makes her feel much more comfortable discussing them.

Again, more voluntary information than Carolyn’s expecting. She wants to ask more about the sexual activity to which Quinn has just referred, but there’s something else that needs to be answered first.  
“If distance and time weren’t factors, would you want to attempt a relationship with her?”  
The question feels like a physical slap to the face, right down to her eyes watering from the blow. If Dr. Radcliffe weren’t sitting on the other side of a desk, Quinn might even lift her fingers to her cheek to touch the sting she feels there.

She knows that there’s a defensiveness in her eyes, and she makes no effort to hide it. She reminds herself that Dr. Radcliffe is asking these questions for a reason; she’s never given Quinn cause to distrust her. In order for Quinn to make progress, she can’t avoid this subject. She also can’t lie about it.

She’s beginning to think she has a smile that fits every occasion except for actual happiness. This one is thin and fragile and feels like it might shatter any second. “You already know the answer to that,” she says. “Last session, you forced me to make a choice between—” She closes her eyes and breathes through her nose while she counts. When she reaches the number ten, she opens her eyes again. “I’m not one of those girls who can open herself up physically with no repercussions. It has taken me a very long time to let Rachel in as far as I have.”

“I realize this is a lot all at once, but you said yourself that you’re on a limited schedule if you’d like to discuss this in a timely fashion.” Carolyn doesn’t want to rush Quinn on any of this, but she’s so close to making a breakthrough. “It’s important for you to recognize what’s happening between you and Rachel, as well as the personal growth you’ve made over the last couple months.”

She watches as that settles with Quinn, then continues. “You’ve gone so far as to open yourself up physically to Rachel. And given what you’ve just said, what do you think that means?”

“I think it means… that I like the way she makes me feel,” Quinn says slowly, “And that it’s either enough to override my fears or I’m starting to feel like I can trust her.”

It’s an admission that makes her feel helpless, like a sick patient who needs a machine to breathe for her.   
“Is it possible that it could be a little of both?” Carolyn asks.

Quinn shrugs. Anything is possible. Isn’t that the phrase? “Even if it is, it’s not like it matters in the long run.”

“It matters enough to you that you’re discussing it with me,” says Carolyn. “Rachel is someone you’ve deemed worthy of both your attention and your trust, yet you’re unwilling to allow yourself an opportunity to explore that.”

“It’s not that simple,” Quinn says. “We don’t have time to explore it.”

“And if you spend what little time you do have focusing on the fact that you’re running out of time, what will you gain?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Some clarity? It’s not that I’m wasting the time we have together. It’s that I’m preventing myself from getting further in—” She clamps down again. Why is this so hard to discuss? She looks down. Not even Dr. Radcliffe should be able to see this. “It’s going to hurt enough as it is,” she says quietly.

“Do you feel that your fear of being hurt is preventing you from doing what you’d actually like to do?” Carolyn is careful with her phrasing. “And, do you actually believe Rachel isn’t worth that risk?”

She wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand. She was going to say that she doesn’t know what she wants, but then Dr. Radcliffe’s words hit her, really hit her, and her eyes snap up. “Of course she is,” she bites out. “I’m not just using her.” There’s more. She can feel it, brewing and swirling deep down. She can’t identify it, but she knows that it’s attached to Rachel somehow. It always has been.

It’s clear that Carolyn’s struck a nerve. “I didn’t mean to imply that you were. But if getting closer to her really is worth that risk, why are you resisting?”

Quinn can only glare. “It’s not like she’s thrown herself at me and I’ve turned her down. She wants to keep it casual just as much as I do. We’re both very aware of the reality of our situation, and just because—” She takes a deep breath and holds her head high. “Just because it’s difficult for us to stop once we start getting physical with each other, doesn’t mean that either of us wants a relationship.” She crosses her arms defiantly. “There’s nothing to resist.” Her tone is every bit as head cheerleader as it used to be, and she knows that it won’t affect Dr. Radcliffe in the same way as it would her Cheerios, but right now it’s all she’s got.

“Do you think it’s possible that there might be a middle ground between the type of relationship you’re talking about and where you are, currently?”

Quinn’s laugh, like so much of the rest of her, is bitter. “Technically, we’re in the middle ground now, aren’t we? I mean, friends don’t stick their hands down one another’s pants every chance they get, do they? And couples who are dating are generally expected to treat each other with at least a basic level of human civility.” She runs a hand through her hair but leaves her other arm curled protectively around her stomach. This is not going how she thought it would.

“All right,” Carolyn nods. “That’s a fair assessment. And I’m not attempting to force you into anything you aren’t prepared to handle. And…” She removes her glasses and sets them next to her notepad. “Relationships of any nature aren’t always as black and white as perhaps we’d like them to be.”

Quinn feels like the fight is over. She’s still wounded, staggering, clutching at her side, but she’s also still standing. She feels like it’s over, but Rachel is still leaving, and Quinn is still staying in Ohio, alone with her doubts and desires and fears.

“What am I supposed to do?” she asks in a small voice, and for the first time in a long time, she feels like— Lucy.

“You’re the only one who can answer that for yourself. But, don’t you think that if you sincerely believe a chance is worth taking, that maybe you should take it?”

What Dr. Radcliffe says, it’s suddenly not about taking the chance on Rachel. It’s about Quinn’s own issues. Rachel can move five hundred miles away, and Quinn can commit to her and they can make the long distance thing work. But what then? Rachel makes friends. New York friends. Trendy and talented and fun, people who genuinely like Rachel and like what she contributes to their circles. She gets her education in the arts, she performs. She goes on.

And Quinn is still in Lima. That’s a recipe for resentment if she’s ever heard one. She makes up her mind. “I can’t,” she tells Dr. Radcliffe firmly. “She’s welcome to go on and live her dream, and I want her to be successful and happy, but I can’t sit here and be a Lima loser while she does it. It’s not about taking the chance. It’s about avoiding the regret.”

It’s apparent to Carolyn that Quinn needs more time to work out this particular situation, which is unfortunate. Instead of picking at the same issue, she shifts topics. But barely.

“Let’s talk about your obsession with trapping yourself in Lima.”

Quinn’s mouth drops open. “My obsession with— Fuck you, Carolyn. If anything, I want to get out of here worse than anyone else.”

Carolyn continues, visibly unphased. “So you’ve been looking at schools, jobs, apartments… outside of Lima? Where? Toledo? Cleveland? Chicago?” The icy glare Quinn is giving is enough to chill the whole room. “My point is, I’ve seen no indication that you’ve been proactive about this, lately. You embrace being angry about what life’s handed you. When do you plan to do something about it?”

“You have to have money to do all of those things,” she spits. This is not how this is supposed to go. “I’m supposed to always hold it together for everyone else. Don’t you ever think that maybe I can’t handle one more rejection? I just can’t.”

She wants to curl into a ball. She wants to leave and never come back. She wants to cry. She can’t actually stop the last one, and soon tears are falling freely. She doesn’t try to wipe them away anymore; she just lets them come. What does it fucking matter anymore if she holds herself together?

“You’re saying you’ve given up on even planning an escape strategy? For years, you’ve been talking to me about how you need to leave Lima, at almost any cost. When did you stop trying?” Carolyn feels that she could probably pinpoint when, but Quinn needs to do the work here. “The session after you received your Yale letter was one of your highest emotional peaks, in my opinion. What happened to that enthusiasm?”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t have any money? I didn’t lose my enthusiasm, doctor, I lost my trust fund. You’d be surprised how hard it is to get a scholarship when your parents are in a six figure income bracket.” She’s crying harder now. At this point, everything is an attack. “Even if they’ve disowned you, you’re still considered a dependent. Apartments are the same. I don’t have any credit. I can’t even get a cell phone in my own name at this point.”

Quinn doesn’t really know what else she can do to communicate that she’s tried.

She ends up slumping against the chair and burying her face in her hands. At least she can control how much Dr. Radcliffe can actually see of this little meltdown.

“It’s perfectly acceptable to want to give up. There are people who have endured a fraction of what you’ve seen in the last few years.” Carolyn leans forward on her arms. “But Quinn, if you truly want to leave Lima, there are options other than overall apathy.”

“You think I have options? I’d love to hear some of those.”

Carolyn finds herself frustrated, mostly with herself for letting her personal opinion into the conversation. “I’m simply saying that I’ve seen a shift from the Quinn I first met, who was willing to do anything to make her way out of Lima, and the Quinn I see now who appears to have stopped trying.” She slips her glasses back on. “And it’s healthy to change your priorities as life moves along. But in this case, from the outside, it looks as if you’ve simply given up.”

Quinn sighs. “There’s a difference between giving up and recognizing that there just isn’t anything to be done,” she says after a long pause. “I want to have a life that I can be proud of, I really do. I’m just…”Limited is the word that comes to mind, but she doesn’t say it out loud. She’s come to the point where she can’t be above asking for help, but that doesn’t make it any easier. She just doesn’t know what else she can do.

“Where would you like to be, right now? Both ideally and realistically?” Carolyn asks, trying to get them back on track.

Quinn listens to the clock on Dr. Radcliffe’s wall tick away the seconds while she thinks about where she’d like to be. She finally answers, “I think… someplace with Beth nearby or if not, then somewhere I can make friends who have similar interests.” She shrugs. “I don’t know. I’d just like to be happy for once.”

“And what are the things that would make you happy? Other than Beth and possible friends with similar interests.” Carolyn pauses a moment before she expands. “Do you have any academic or professional goals?”

“I used to think something with drama, but… Lately I’ve been— taking a lot of pictures. But that’s not… I mean, it’s just a hobby. Real estate seems more realistic.”

“Isn’t your current job in photography, though? And why do you assume real estate is a more realistic option, particularly in today’s market?”

Quinn shoots her a look. “My current job pays minimum wage. As for the real estate, it’s a job that has potential for success with very little training. I don’t care about the market. I can be successful if I have to be.”

“Then why not be successful in getting yourself somewhere other than Lima?”

Quinn makes that sound that is uniquely laughing and crying at the same time. “I really hate you sometimes,” she says, but there is no venom in her words. She just mostly sounds exhausted. “Okay, so, get out of Lima. Any other advice, doctor?” She hopes it sounds sarcastic but she’s not so sure.

Carolyn offers Quinn a resigned smile. “You may want to consider weighing in what your heart wants versus what path you think you’re supposed to follow. That’s my personal opinion. You have no obligation it abide by it.”

“What my heart wants… god, you sound like a Disney movie,” Quinn says in a dry voice. “I have no idea what my heart wants. In a perfect world, I wouldn’t be kept from my daughter, and I would have enough money to do the things I need to do. That’s it.”

“Okay,” Carolyn takes a moment to study the notepad in front of her. She can’t force Quinn to make any connections, she can only help her open up to discovery. “So, let’s focus on the short term. You’re working at the photo studio. Do you see yourself still working there in six months?”

It’s another one of those close-your-eyes-and-count-to-ten moments. The photo studio. There are worse things in the world. “If I have to be stuck in Lima, I would like to have that job until something better comes along, yes,” Quinn finally says. She purposely leaves Rachel out of the equation because— that’s not something that she can even handle thinking about right now. If she’s in Lima, she needs something to focus on, and she doesn’t hate working at the studio. It’s something.

Carolyn nods. “You said you currently hold a minimum wage position. Are you content holding that or would you prefer to move upward while you’re still employed there?”

Quinn laughs, this time genuinely. “It’s literally me and the photographer working there, so unless I stash her body somewhere really clever… there’s no way to move up.”

“Do you think it’s possible it can provide you with any additional photography opportunities? I’m just trying to encourage some proactive thinking about what might be possible within your field of interest.”

It’s not that she hasn’t wanted to bring this up, it’s that she hasn’t wanted to think about it too much and actually start caring about something that might be important to her again. But Dr. Radcliffe is supposed to put things in perspective, or at least give her clarity, so she takes a deep breath. “My boss actually submitted  
one of my photographs to a competition a few months ago. I’m a finalist. I find out in a few weeks if I’m going to Chicago.” She says it all in one breath so that she’s sure to get it all out.

The way Quinn breathlessly throws all of the information out in the open suggests that she’s been holding on to it, waiting to get through the session without letting it slip. But it has. “Congratulations.” She doesn’t want Quinn to fixate on outcome of the competition, so she says, “I’d very much like for you to keep me informed on what happens with that. This must mean your boss sees potential in your work.”

“God, you sound just like Rachel,” Quinn says without thinking. Her hand is halfway through her hair when she realizes what she’s said. Her eyes widen slightly, but she forces herself to keep moving as if it’s nothing. “I’ll let you know as soon as I find out.”

“Rachel cares to be informed or Rachel assumes your boss sees potential in you?” Carolyn asks.  
Quinn chooses her words carefully this time. Now that’s she’s opened this topic, she knows there’s no avoiding it. “Rachel is… a very optimistic person by nature. And she can be incredibly supportive when she’s not totally focused on herself.”

“Does that bother you? The amount of focus she puts on herself?”

“I wouldn’t say that it bothers me,” Quinn says. “She’s the most talented person I’ve ever met, so it stands to reason that she would take her career seriously. She’s very dedicated, and she… should be.” It’s not a complete representation of Rachel’s personality, and Quinn knows it. “In spite of her self-focus, she’s actually very in tune with what’s going on with other people.” The admission is difficult, but true. “She can be pretty intuitive.”

Quinn clamps her lips together again because how is it that she’s spent most of this session talking about Rachel?

Carolyn nods and makes another note, before flipping back a couple pages on the notepad. “All right. Last week, I asked you to spend some time thinking about your friendship with Rachel and what you ultimately wanted from that. We’ve covered a little of that already, but why don’t you tell me about anything else you’ve come up with in regard to that.”

This is not— Quinn does not want to discuss this, and she bites the inside of her cheek. “I haven’t—” How can she turn some of the thoughts she had the past week into words? “The only time I’ve been able to think about what you asked me to is when…” She rolls her eyes. She made it to head cheerleader. Twice. She gave birth to another human being. She ought to be able to talk about sex with another girl in front of her psychiatrist. She tries again. “The only thing that doesn’t confuse me about what I want with Rachel is when… we’re physical.”

There. That’s the best she can do, and it’s just going to have to be good enough. She can feel the blood in her cheeks and she knows what her face must look like to Dr. Radcliffe.

Carolyn can tell this embarrasses Quinn, though it isn’t apparent if it’s because of the topic of sex in general or the fact that it’s about Rachel. “You mentioned something earlier about being physical with her. May I ask what it is that you’re doing? As little or as much detail as you’re comfortable with giving. And remember, there’s no judgment in here.”

Quinn wishes she could see the look on her own face because it feels nothing short of comical. The feelings behind it are anything but. The only recourse she has is dropping her gaze and focusing on her fingers where they’re tangled together in her lap. She’s burning from the inside, out, and she struggles for the right words.

“We— we’re… I don’t know how to talk about this.” She shoots a nervous glance at her therapist and sees nothing but compassion and support looking back at her. That’s one thing she likes about Dr. Radcliffe— she doesn’t take any of Quinn’s head bitch crap, but when it matters she really does care. She focuses on her hands again and imagines Rachel sitting beside her and reaching over to hold one in support.

No, that’s worse. She shakes her head to clear the image. Once Rachel is safely banished, she tries again. “We make out.” She breathes, in and out. Focus, Quinn. You can beat this. “A lot. We make out a lot. We, um, explore is the right word, I think. God.” She wipes her hands on her jeans. “We haven’t been… nude in front of each other, but we have, uh…” Another nervous glance, another encouraging nod. “We’ve technically gone all the way. Over clothes. Is that—”

Dr. Radcliffe nods again, and Quinn feels relief wash over her. “It’s easy, when we’re together. I don’t have to think about anything or worry about if I’m giving off the right impression because with her, I always know. She… she talks to me. She’s a very open person, and she—” Quinn suddenly feels like she might cry, and that is not happening right now. She sucks in her tears. “She makes me feel like… like… I want to live up to what she thinks I am.”

She doesn’t look up. She can’t. She’s never said any of this to another human being before and it suddenly all feels ridiculously real. Every nerve is open and bleeding and she hurts.

In all the time Carolyn’s been working with Quinn, she’s only ever seen her reveal this much about her own emotions in relation to one person: Beth. Granted, the nature of the relationships are clearly different, but the conflict between Quinn’s need to protect herself and her desire to truly do the right thing is very similar in both situations.

“And this is the most physically intimate you’ve been with anyone since Beth was conceived, correct?” She already knows the answer, so the question is merely a formality and she continues. “The amount of trust you have in Rachel, whether you realize it or not, is a huge step. Not just for whatever relationship exists between the two of you, but for yourself.” Carolyn leans down a little to level herself with Quinn’s eyeline. “You say she makes you want to live up to what she thinks you are. What do you think that is?”

“God, I don’t know.” Quinn is starting to feel trapped, but in some way it’s a relief to finally have someone else know about these feelings she’s had brewing inside of her for weeks now. “She thinks I’m talented. She tells me all of the time. She thinks— she thinks I’m this good person, and I have no idea why.” Every look Rachel has given her, every touch, every whisper, they all flash in Quinn’s brain like firecrackers going off in rapid succession. There have been times when she’s wanted to kill her, but when it comes down to it, Rachel Berry has only ever treated her with respect. She closes her eyes briefly to get her composure. When she opens them, she has to blink to keep her tears from spilling over. “When she leaves and this is over, I don’t know what I’m supposed to…”

She can’t finish that thought. She won’t. She’s been over this. When Rachel leaves, she leaves, and that’s it. Quinn goes back to— to what?  
She feels sick.

“Quinn, just because Rachel’s going to New York… that doesn’t mean your friendship ends. It doesn’t mean she stops supporting you.” Carolyn slides her notebook aside so the desk space between them is open. “You’ve made it clear that you don’t intend to maintain any kind of long distance romantic relationship with her and that’s understandable. But that doesn’t mean everything stops the moment she leaves the Lima city limits.”

Quinn finally lifts her watery eyes to her therapist and the only person she’s ever really trusted. Her voice is barely a whisper when she says, “I guess we’ll see.”


	21. Allen County Home and Garden Presents  Backyard Campground Chic

The Berry’s backyard is larger than it looks from the street. The house is a nice size, modern and beautifully landscaped, with a deck off the back. Quinn’s been there once before, on the deck, but she never really paid much attention to what was below. Now that she’s out near the trees that line the back of the property, she’s surprised that the house feels so far away.   

She finds a level spot and unpacks the tent, laying out each piece so she can find it easily, and fanning the tent out on the ground, while Rachel fusses with the fire pit. Quinn has been camping several times. Every summer she was on Cheerios, she spent almost two weeks leading the entire squad back to school from whatever spot in the woods Sue stranded them in. She’s no stranger to roughing it.   

Rachel, on the other hand… Quinn tries to ignore what’s going on with the fire pit and focus on getting the tent up.   

The Berrys use the fire pit for nearly all of their backyard entertaining, but Rachel has never personally had to light the fire on her own. She debates with the idea of asking Quinn for help, but with the way she scoffed at Rachel’s insistence that she read the printed instructions before attempting to erect the tent, Rachel would rather figure this out herself.  

This is her first attempt at camping, something that’s been on her Summer To Do list, and she’s determined to prove that she can rough it, even if it’s happening in her own backyard. She studies the concrete ring on the ground in front of her, then recalls that this operates the same way as the gas fireplace in the house. Within a minute, she has the gas key turned and the fire ignited with the kitchen lighter she’s been tightly gripping the entire time.  

“Got it!”  

Quinn rolls her eyes at Rachel, but she can’t help the smile that goes along with it. Rachel is genuinely proud of herself for figuring out how to light the gas fire pit, and Quinn can’t make herself think of it in any other way than cute. Well, now she’s just rolling her eyes at herself.  
  At this point, she’s got the stakes in the ground (Rachel had been shocked that she needed a hammer to put up a tent) and the poles looped through the canvas. She just needs another pair of hands to help her pull it into place.   

“Rach, can you grab that side? Just pull up like this,” Quinn instructs.   

Rachel picks up the edge of the tent, as directed. “Have you gone camping since Cheerios or do you just remember all of this? Either way, I’m impressed.” She smiles at Quinn and waits for the next direction. 

Quinn lifts an eyebrow. “I like it when you’re impressed,” she says, and then nods to her hands. “That one snaps in place like this. And then the other side, and that should be it.”    
   
Just in time, too. The sun is going down and casting a soft glow behind the trees.  

Rachel steps back to look at the tent, then nods in approval. “Okay, what next? The air mattress? Or did you want to eat before we do that?”  

Quinn’s brow furrows. “I thought we were sleeping on the ground. You said you wanted to rough it.”   

“But,” Rachel’s expression mirrors Quinn’s. “That sounds incredibly uncomfortable.”  

“If you want to sleep on an air mattress, go ahead. Just make sure you inflate it inside the tent, Rachel,” Quinn tells her. “What is for dinner, anyway?”  

“Baked vegan mac and cheese with grilled veggies. It’s in the kitchen.” Rachel’s slightly distracted, though, because of what Quinn just said about the mattress. “What if I already inflated it inside because I needed an outlet for the electric pump?”  

“You’re not serious.” There are no words for the things Quinn feels. She wants to be irritated that they’re even having this conversation. She wants to think Rachel is incompetent and ridiculous. But she can’t. Rachel is so eager to be camping and so happy that she thought ahead to do something that was needed, and now she looks totally crestfallen and— well, adorable.   

It’s not the first time Quinn has thought so, but there’s really no denying it any longer. “Well,” she ends up saying. “It might still fit. If not, we can always just rough it.” She doesn’t know exactly why, but the way she says ‘rough it’ has her suddenly thinking less than pure thoughts. She wonders if Rachel can tell that she’s all over the place tonight.  

“Well,” Rachel closes in on Quinn. “I suppose that ‘roughing it’ would provide a more authentic experience. If you think you can handle keeping me warm and are prepared to fend off any wild animals, I can probably manage to do without the air mattress.”   

She likes this scenario where Quinn is her protector. Not that she thinks she’s helpless. Rachel’s confident in her abilities to command a stage or effortlessly hail a New York City taxi. But she loves the idea of Quinn keeping her safe. Even if the only threat is her elderly neighbor’s Pomeranian.  

From the looks of it, Quinn’s aren’t the only thoughts that are less than pure. When Rachel reaches her and actually trails a hand up her bicep, the combination between the touch and the words coming out of Rachel’s mouth is enough to make Quinn feel unsteady. Her instinct is to wrap an arm around Rachel’s waist, and then she glances nervously at the house. “Are your dads home?” she asks in a low voice. “And how do they feel about me staying over here after… after last time?”   

Quinn is completely fine with the idea of fending off wild animals and she’s more than okay with keeping Rachel warm, but meeting Rachel’s dads still scares the hell out of her.   

“They’ll be home later, but they’ve promised not to invade our campsite.” Rachel leans into Quinn and wraps her arms around her. “And for the millionth time, they weren’t really mad. They just worry about me and I have a feeling this week was an exaggerated display of parental power because of the upcoming circumstances.” She doesn’t really want to talk about leaving, right now, because she knows it upsets Quinn.    
With her arms full of Rachel, Quinn feels happy in the moment and a sadness that gets larger with every day that brings them closer to New York. She would never ask Rachel not to go, and she would never follow Rachel (or anyone else) there. This is just the time they have and she rests her cheek against Rachel’s head and tries to shake the dread of losing her free.   

Rachel lets Quinn hold her for awhile and then pulls back enough to look up at her, and before Quinn can register what’s happening, she’s pulling Rachel up on her toes and kissing her.   

Rachel feels like she’s smiling as she kisses Quinn, but it’s really impossible to tell what her face actually looks like. She’s happy, though, and loses herself in the kiss long enough for her toes to tire from holding her up. As she drops the few inches back to the grass, she asks, “Are you even hungry now or did you want to… wait? We could finish setting up the sleeping bags.”  

“I feel like… we should have dinner,” Quinn says slowly. She doesn’t want to admit that if she follows Rachel into the tent right now, they might miss dinner all together. “If you want,” she adds.   

“It won’t take long. It’s been keeping warm in the oven.” Rachel bites her lip and waits for the lecture on how it isn’t actually camping food. “I didn’t know what else to do since neither hot dogs or marshmallows are vegan.”  

Quinn laughs and pulls Rachel toward the house. “You know that it’s not the food that makes it camping, right? It’s sleeping outside in a tent. It’s going to be fine, Rachel.” The old Quinn would have made fun of her. The old Quinn might have made her feel like this was a waste of time, but this Quinn feels like it’s not enough. She adds, “If it will make you feel better, we can eat outside. That way, it will feel more like camping.”   

Rachel nods and bounces back upward to plant another kiss on Quinn’s lips before breaking away and bounding into the house.  

“Will you set up the chairs?” She calls as she pops her head back out the door, then gestures toward the two folding chairs that rest against the edge of the deck. “And there are organic sodas in the ice chest.”  

“I got it, Rach.” Quinn has everything set up by the time Rachel comes ducking back out with dishes tucked under one arm and a steaming pan of macaroni in her hands. Quinn fishes the plates away from her and Rachel sets the pan down before heading back for the vegetables. “I could have helped you, you know,” Quinn calls after her.   

When Rachel returns with the veggies, she says, “You helped by setting up the tent. And you’ll help by fending off any creatures later.” She’s a little nervous about Quinn liking the food, because it’s vegan and because Rachel isn’t as intuitive in the kitchen as Quinn seems to be. “The macaroni recipe is Daddy’s. I hope it turned out right.”  

It turns out wonderfully, Quinn thinks as they eat, and she tells Rachel so. Several times. The sun is down completely now, and Rachel has lit citronella candles and it’s a warm night, and perfect in Quinn’s estimation. Their conversation is easy and light, but in the back of her mind Quinn notices that there are topics that Rachel avoids, like New York and Beth and Finn. It’s enough that Quinn wishes for a time when they don’t have to tip toe around one another anymore, when Rachel can truly be excited for such a big accomplishment and be able to look forward to her future with— with whoever Quinn is to her now. Friend doesn’t seem right, but they’re not dating, and neither of them want to be. If she’s honest, she hates herself a little bit for making this bittersweet for Rachel.  

Once dinner is over, Quinn helps Rachel with the dishes and then finds her arms sliding smoothly around Rachel’s waist as she stands at the sink. It’s too easy to press her lips to Rachel’s ear and whisper that she thinks it’s an ideal time to arrange the sleeping bags outside.   

Lately, this is Rachel’s favorite location: In Quinn’s arms. She nods as she presses her body back against Quinn. “That sounds like a good idea.”  

There are two brand new sleeping bags and an electric lantern sitting on the deck, part of same Target purchase she made this morning when she bought the tent, and once Rachel manages to pull herself away from her cozy position at the sink, she leads Quinn outside to pick them up.  

“I thought maybe we could put one down and cover up with the other,” she suggests. “That way we can…” The word she intends to say next is ‘cuddle’ but she’s blushing because the image her mind has conjured up is something a little more adult-rated.  

Quinn had to reel her thoughts back in repeatedly over dinner with the way Rachel laughed and tossed her hair and touched Quinn’s hand, but Rachel’s blush now is enough to for her to forget all about why reeling her thoughts in was important. She catches Rachel by the wrist and pulls her close. They’re inches apart when Quinn murmurs, “What? We can what, Rachel?”   

Rachel feels the heavy rise and fall of her own chest as Quinn asks her to clarify what she means. “We can…” She can’t seem to pull her gaze away from Quinn’s lips when she finally says, “… do whatever we want.”  

This kiss is different than any of the kisses they’ve shared so far, at least for Quinn. For Quinn, this kiss is what it feels like for her walls to come down, if only for a night. This isn’t about letting herself get carried away. This is about letting herself want something. And tonight, what Quinn wants is…   

She quirks an eyebrow. “Whatever we want?” They’re still so close, their lips brushing together when Quinn whispers. She needs to make sure she’s not the only one who wants this.   

Rachel shudders at the shiver that moves through her. She wants whatever they’re both willing to put out there, even of she doesn’t know exactly what it is. What matters is that they’re both agreeing to push things forward. How far forward doesn’t matter to her. “Mmhmm. I’m open to anything. I think I said that to you once before.”  

“I remember,” Quinn says. She licks her lips, tastes Rachel’s kiss on them and then whispers, “I just want… you…” She doesn’t even fully understand what she means. She just knows that she wants Rachel— needs her, in some capacity— right now. But she also knows she’s scared of so many things. “Rachel…” It sounds like so many of the prayers she’s sent up before, and she can only hope that Rachel understands.   

She lets her eyes fall closed and then she’s closing the distance and pressing her mouth against Rachel’s once more, under Rachel’s deck with a sleeping bag in one hand and the other still grasping lightly to Rachel’s wrist.   

Quinn has this ability to truly make Rachel feel desired and in this moment that feeling is multiplied. She nearly drops the sleeping bag she’s holding, but adjusts her grip and clutches it more tightly.  

“Whatever you want, Quinn.” Her words are punctuated with the breathy pants that push out of her mouth. Want is the right word for this. She wants this, so much. She wants Quinn. But it also feels like more than that.  

Quinn nearly groans out loud at Rachel’s words, at the knowledge that there’s really nothing standing between them any longer. She threads their fingers together, says, “come on,” and leads Rachel out into the darkness, through the yard, down to the tent. They’re silent the entire way, silent as Quinn kneels and zips the tent up, spreads her sleeping bag on the ground, silent as she takes Rachel’s and fans it out on top.   

By the time Quinn finally takes the lantern from Rachel and sets it in the corner of the tent, she feels nervous and shy all over again. She twists her fingers together and tries to think of how to ask Rachel if she wants to lay down without sounding like some kind of cheesy soap opera. In the end, she settles for throwing Rachel a look that feels like it falls somewhere between hopeful and uncertain.   

Rachel takes in the moment that surrounds her, the fact that she’s sitting here in a tent, atop two sleeping bags, lit by a lantern, all of which she purchased that morning so she could check off another item on her list. But her soon to be tallied accomplishment is a distant second to the other combined details where she’s sitting across from Quinn Fabray, wearing a pair of jean shorts she had to dig out of her former New Directions wardrobe options because nothing else she owns felt appropriate for camping, backyard or otherwise.  

Words aren’t really necessary, but Rachel does have something to say, before they do anything. She sits up on her knees and scoots toward Quinn before settling back down and tracing her fingers up Quinn’s forearm.   

As new as a lot of this is to Rachel, she knows she still has more experience than either of them. She also assumes there’s something Quinn probably needs more than general physical know-how. “Anything you want, Q. I trust you.”   

Quinn feels lost, and Rachel’s words stir something in her. She suddenly thinks of her last session with Dr. Radcliffe and how it’s healthy for priorities to change and how the amount of trust she has in Rachel is a huge step. She feels like crying and laughing and kissing Rachel and getting out of Lima all at once.   

“How do you do that?” Quinn half-whispers. “How can you be so open and— and gentle?” It’s not exactly what she means, but she has no idea how to say what she means. She just wants so much, so many things. Right now the thought she’s consumed with is how much she just wants to see Rachel, but she has no idea how to ask for that. “I just want— can we just… kiss?” She feels the blush creeping up her neck. “I mean, just something familiar?”  
  There’s a slight nod and a soft smile before Rachel leans in. Her hand slips up Quinn’s arm until her fingers tuck behind Quinn’s neck and pull her even closer.  

Their lips barely brush together, at first, then Rachel applies more pressure, still keeping it gentle. They don’t have anywhere to be, they’re alone on the property until at least after midnight, so they have time.   

At least tonight, they have time. 

It isn’t long before Quinn is tugging lightly at Rachel’s waist to get her closer. The kissing is still slow and gentle, but pulling Rachel into her lap is something she’ll never be able to keep herself from doing. The shocking thing is, it isn’t even about sex for Quinn; it’s about feeling closer.   

Quinn requested familiar and this definitely qualifies. In the short time they’ve been physical with each other, Rachel has quickly grown to appreciate the way Quinn’s hands tend to wander over her legs and eventually always end up on her… well, ass… even if that isn’t the word Rachel would use in mixed company. 

This particular brand of contact makes it difficult to keep things gentle and it isn’t long before Rachel’s licking at Quinn’s bottom lip and tugging on the hair at the base of Quinn’s neck.  

Quinn is still amazed by how much muscle control Rachel has when she’s straddling Quinn’s lap like this. Her thigh muscles seem to be working constantly, and she never gets tired. It’s impossible for Quinn to keep her hands from stroking up and down and squeezing intermittently, and with Rachel in shorts, which is a first for them, she finds that her fingers fit perfectly between the denim and Rachel’s skin. She loves Rachel’s reaction when she slides her hands around and squeezes, how Rachel cants into her softly every time and makes this breathy little sound against her mouth.  

Whatever Rachel is doing to Quinn’s hair is making her crazy, and when she feels Rachel licking at her lip, she squeezes harder with her hands and sends her own tongue to meet it.  
  Rachel’s vocal response rumbles low in her throat, but the sound is muffled by the kiss, which happens to be increasing in intensity with every touch from Quinn. Her other hand fumbles and gropes along the front of Quinn’s shirt until it makes contact with the swell of a breast and cups her palm around it.  

“Rach,” Quinn breathes, her hand flying to Rachel’s and covering it enough to put the pressure she needs down on Rachel’s fingers. She wants this. She wants Rachel touching her just like this, and she never wants it to stop. She surges up to kiss Rachel more deeply and has to grip tighter to keep from tipping Rachel down on her back.  
  While everything they’re doing is well within the standard for the last several times they’ve seen each other, there’s an energy behind this encounter that’s different. Rachel flexes her fingers under Quinn’s hand, in an attempt to generate even more a reaction, because making Quinn react to her in this manner is high on Rachel’s recently re-evaluated list of favorite things. It’s becoming increasingly more difficult to breathe, but she doesn’t want to stop kissing Quinn.  
  Her need for oxygen wins out, however, and Rachel drags her mouth down to Quinn’s neck where she draws in a few necessary deep breaths. “If you’d like, you can…” Another breath. “Um,” she was so confident only a second ago, but the reality of everything makes her feel awkward. Not so awkward that she backs down, though. “My shirt can come off. If you… want…” 

The thought of Rachel being topless - of Rachel wanting to be topless - on top of her is enough to drive a strangled noise up Quinn’s throat. “I do,” she breathes, “so much.” Quinn’s hands are smoothing across Rachel’s stomach before she’s even done speaking, and she starts to push the t-shirt up and then hesitates. She stared at this shirt all through dinner. Wondered how Rachel even found a shirt with three kittens paddling a canoe on it in the first place, couldn’t help but think how adorable Rachel is without even meaning to be. And then there’s the way that it fits her. Snug enough to show off the swell of Rachel’s breasts and make Quinn ache to caress and explore like she did that night on the couch. And now—  

She locks eyes with Rachel and waits, until Rachel’s own hands are helping lift it off and over her head. Quinn’s breath catches and she can’t tear her eyes away. Even in just a pink and white polka dotted bra and cutoff jean shorts, Rachel is stunning.  
  Rachel has always had self-confidence about her voice, her talent, her innate ability to always know which direction is stage-right, but when it comes to her body, she still has a few reservations about showing it off. She knows Quinn has already seen her in a bathing suit, but it was a one-piece. She also knows they’ve changed in the same space before competitions. But those instances are far removed from actually being undressed by Quinn Fabray, the girl on which she once-upon-a-time based her entire ideal body image. Those days are long over and things have definitely changed, but it’s still a little intimidating to be bearing her midriff to Quinn in the light of the battery powered lantern that still sits in the corner of the tent and she can’t stop her arms from drifting between them and crossing over herself. 

“I…” she begins to say, the second she realizes she’s covering herself up. “… guess I’m just a little nervous.” She doesn’t know how to appropriately explain that she and Finn were never actually naked in front of each other. Not that she’s naked, now. But she feels more intimately on display now than she ever has before. 

“Hey,” Quinn says softly. “We don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.” She can’t stop herself from tracing down Rachel’s arm slowly with a single finger. It might be difficult for her to vocalize, this desire that she feels whenever they’re together, but with Rachel acting as apprehensive as she is, Quinn doesn’t feel quite as shy as she normally does. She finds Rachel’s eyes again. “If you only knew how badly I’ve wanted to see you, you wouldn’t be nervous.”  
  They’re still so close together, it’s not much of a stretch for her to press a kiss first to Rachel’s collarbone and then to her lips. “I think you’re beautiful.” 

That bolsters Rachel’s confidence enough for her arms to pull away from her stomach and, instead, drape over Quinn’s shoulders. She blushes at the compliment, which is generally uncharacteristic of her, but it isn’t one she receives regularly, especially not like this.  
  Her instinct is to say ‘thank you’ but that doesn’t feel right, so she pours her gratitude into the kiss and when it breaks, she asks, “You’ve been wanting to see me?”  
  Quinn’s breath is shallow from Rachel’s kiss and from the effort of keeping her hands still on Rachel’s hips. Rachel’s question seems to fall somewhere between amused and uncertain, and Quinn squeezes her fingers on Rachel’s curves. She leans into Rachel and breathes the words, “for such a long time,” into her neck, placing a kiss on the skin there.  
  She slides her hands up a fraction of an inch and looks down to see her pale fingers against olive skin. She doesn’t look up when she asks, “Can I… touch you?”  
  Rachel nods as she says, “Please.” She’s already told Quinn that she’s open to whatever the evening brings, but the fact that the question is still asked makes Rachel’s heart beat harder and she’s convinced it has to be audible. Though Quinn doesn’t seem to notice. Then again, Quinn’s focused on something else, entirely.  

Slender fingers trail softly up Rachel’s stomach and cup gently over the pink and white polka dotted swell of Rachel’s breast. Quinn slides her thumb down softly, following the line of Rachel’s skin against the material and finally lets herself look up into wide brown eyes. The way Rachel feels in her hand, along with the way she’s looking at her causes Quinn to bury her face in Rachel’s neck again.

This… this is what she was made for.  

She places open-mouthed kisses along Rachel’s neck and shoulder, while she picks up more confidence with what her hand is doing. The other hand stretches up Rachel’s bare back and flattens in between her shoulder blades. Something about this moment has Quinn telling Rachel how beautiful she is, over and over, softer than she ever thought possible.  

Rachel’s head tilts to the side and her eyes have already drifted shut as Quinn’s mouth works along the span of her neck. “Quinn…” It’s a phenomenal feeling, the combined sensation of various touches both on her skin and over her bra. But… she wants more. Even though she’s primarily left the pacing up to Quinn, Rachel feels that a little encouragement can’t hurt. She reaches one hand behind her back and finds Quinn’s hand. Once she has it, she guides it to the clasp on her bra and hopes her intent is clear, because she isn’t positive she can find the words, right now. 

The second Quinn feels where Rachel has placed her hand, she pulls back with a gasp. “Are you sure?” she asks, and at Rachel’s shy nod, she slides her other hand around Rachel’s back and works the clasp free. Rachel’s bra falls loose and all Quinn wants is to finally look, but she manages to keep her eyes focused on Rachel’s face, searching for any indication that this step isn’t wanted.  
  Rachel is blushing lightly, but otherwise looks expectant, and Quinn suddenly feels the full weight of what she’s doing. Namely, taking off Rachel Berry’s bra. She pulls it once, in the front, and the straps slide slowly down Rachel’s arms until she’s shrugging and leaning back and the lantern light catches her just so—   

It’s kind of a shock, seeing the first pair of naked breasts that aren’t her own. It hits her hard and pools down inside of her immediately. “Oh my god,” Quinn says breathlessly. “You look— you’re— oh my god, Rachel.”  
  Her arms snake around around Rachel again and pull her tightly against Quinn’s body. Shaky hands trail all over a silky back as Quinn just breathes her in and holds onto her for as long as she can.   

Rachel’s face is pressed against Quinn’s hair and every time Rachel breathes in, she’s hit with mixed citrus (she assumes this is a shampoo/conditioner combo) combined with what might be some kind of blossom (hairspray, maybe?). Quinn’s reaction is certainly an ego boost. It also makes Rachel consider how different this is from… anything else she’s experienced. Here she is, half naked, in front of someone who’s attracted to her, who wants her, and yet, there’s no immediate pawing, no rough hands quickly fumbling to cop a too-rough feel.  
  Quinn’s just holding her and Rachel can feel every breath either of them takes in or pushes out. They’re so incredibly close in this moment and the fact that it’s possible to get even closer leaves Rachel dizzy. “Do you think I could…” her fingers tug, just lightly, on the edge of Quinn’s shirt. She’s prepared to take this one step at a time and she’s convinced it will be worth every single one. 

That last thing Quinn wants is to stop focusing on the skin that she’s been presented with. She hasn’t even been able to touch anything yet, and Rachel is tugging on her own shirt. It’s not that she doesn’t want to feel her skin against Rachel’s— she definitely does, but right now all she can think is…    
   
“Yes, but first can I…” She’s still smoothing her palm against Rachel’s back, and on the next pass, she follows Rachel’s ribcage around until her hand is resting against Rachel, and she can feel the underside of Rachel’s naked breast against her fingers. “You said I could touch you,” Quinn husks. 

 “Y-you definitely can.” It’s incredibly difficult for Rachel to keep her eyes open, but she does so she can look at Quinn when she says, “I want you to.” 

 “You do?” Quinn says, trailing her fingers over Rachel’s skin, slowly, in a wide circle. She doesn’t even realize that she’s following the natural curve of Rachel’s body, circling in towards the dark peak in the middle. She’s not trying to tease. She’s really not. It’s just, in the back of her mind, she knows that she only has one shot at her first experience with this, and she wants to remember everything.    
   
By the time she’s using her whole hand, Rachel is panting, and then when Quinn is finally ready, she cups Rachel softly and caresses, feeling absolutely everything against her palm. She’s never felt anything like it, and as much as she’s fascinated with watching how Rachel’s body is responding to her touch, she can’t take it anymore. She drops her head against Rachel’s shoulder and just lets herself feel.  
  Rachel’s mouth hangs open while her eyes are half-lidded. Her back arches as she pushes against Quinn’s hand. She isn’t trying to rush anything, she’s just reacting. Quinn’s hands are smaller than Finn’s, but Quinn seems to be have specific intent behind each and every movement.    
   
“That feels… incredible,” she says and it takes all the effort she has to keep her lower half from moving too much in reaction to the stimulation.   
   
With the way Rachel is reacting, it doesn’t take Quinn long to bring her other hand up to follow the same path on the other breast. The way Rachel feels in her hands is amazing— the best she’s ever felt, if she’s honest— and she sucks on Rachel’s neck just because she needs her mouth on Rachel somewhere. Of course, Rachel gasps and leans back, and Quinn’s lips are considerably lower and she’s kissing down even further until she realizes that she actually has her mouth on another girl’s breast. Once that door is open, there is no force in the world that can close it. Quinn only wants more.    
   
“Oh my… oh my god, Quinn,” Rachel’s words find their way out between heavy breaths. One hand has maneuvered back behind Quinn’s head and her fingers have laced into her hair. Quinn’s mouth is warm and soft and just the right level of aggressive. “Quinn,” she repeats, like it’s the only coherent word she knows.  

As wonderful as this feels, she wants to be touching Quinn just as much as Quinn’s touching her, so her fingertips of her other hand find themselves working back over the fabric covering Quinn’s own breast. It takes effort to stay her course, but she manages to locate the firm peak that suggests Quinn’s incredibly aroused by all of this. Not that Rachel has any reason to assume otherwise, given the way things are progressing.   
   
Once Quinn feels Rachel’s hand on her, she growls softly and remembers Rachel’s request about her own shirt. She sits up, grasps the hem with both hands and tugs it up over her head so she can go back to what she was doing. Now that she knows what it feels like to kiss Rachel here, she’s not sure she ever wants to stop.  

It’s nothing short of a tease for Quinn to whip off her shirt and give Rachel a glimpse of her body before closing back in and blocking most of the view. Granted, Rachel’s seen Quinn in a bikini, so it isn’t as if she’s being presented with anything new. Other than the feeling of Quinn’s skin against hers as Quinn leans back down to put her mouth right back there.  

There’s a moment where Rachel reflects on the fact that she, for some reason, assumed most of Quinn’s bras were red, probably because of her long-running association with the Cheerios. This one is a soft blue color, about as far from the harsh visual immediacy of red as one can get and when Rachel looks down to see the contrast of the fabric against her skin, she groans at the visual confirmation that she’s actually feeling up Quinn through her bra.   

Rachel’s groan causes Quinn to pull back. There’s a spot low enough on Rachel’s skin that it would definitely be covered by a bra, and it’s getting darker by the second. Quinn’s eyes widen with the realization that she’s just left her very first hickey on Rachel’s chest. She only has a second to process it because Rachel is doing something with her fingers that feels amazing, even through her bra, and she falls backward onto the sleeping bags, pulling Rachel with her.   

Rachel is flushed and panting, bare breasted and leaning over her, looking at her like— like no one has ever looked at her. She tucks a strand of hair behind Rachel’s ear.   

“You look amazing,” Quinn tells her, and pulls at Rachel until she slides over Quinn and their legs tangle together.   

“I happen to feel pretty amazing, too, thanks to you,” Rachel says before nudging Quinn’s head to the side and pressing her open mouth against Quinn’s neck. Her upper body is flush against Quinn’s and even though Quinn isn’t completely topless, the amount of skin on skin contact that’s happening is already pushing Rachel toward a sensory overload. She wants more, she wants as much as Quinn’s willing to give her.  

“You do?” Quinn says as Rachel kisses her neck. She feels fantastic, but she misses Rachel’s hands on her. She remembers Rachel’s reaction to how she put Rachel’s hands where she wanted them before, and she smirks as she takes Rachel’s hand and places it over her bra once again. “You can… you can take mine off too.” Quinn bites her lip. “If you want.”  

Rachel pushes herself up on one arm so she can look at Quinn before she offers a shy smile, then nods. “I do. On both counts.” She carefully slips her arm around and underneath Quinn, who has to arch up just enough for Rachel to reach the clasp. It takes a couple attempts because of the angle, but it unhooks and then Rachel’s hand is back out in the open, gently tugging one strap down Quinn’s arm. “I’ve spent most of this summer thinking about what this might be like,” she says, softly.  

The idea that Rachel has been thinking about her— has been thinking about this makes her close her eyes and breathe through her nose. Rachel pauses her attention on the straps until Quinn finally looks at her and says, “You’ve… thought about undressing me?”  

There’s a moment’s hesitation while Rachel chews on the edge of her lip before she nods. “Not ever while we were spending time together. Or… maybe I’ve thought about it while I was with you the last couple of times. But… usually when I was alone. And… this is sounding… weird.” She covers her face with her hand and tries to shake the pink tinge she knows is creeping up her face.  

“Rachel.” Quinn pulls at Rachel’s hand. “It doesn’t— it doesn’t sound weird.” Once Quinn can see her face again, she trails her own fingers down Rachel’s neck. She’s not good at this. She doesn’t know how to talk about what she thinks or how she feels, but Rachel is topless, for god’s sake, and has a hand grasped around Quinn’s bra, ready to pull it off of her. If she can’t talk about it now, she’ll never be able to. “I think it’s kind of hot, actually. I hope that I’m— that it’s—”   

She rolls her eyes, but she can feel her own blush and she gives Rachel an apologetic look. That’s one sentence she won’t be finishing, but she hope Rachel understands anyway.   

That’s enough to re-elevate Rachel’s confidence and she resumes removing the bra. The fact that Quinn even doubts herself, in the slightest, leaves Rachel shaking her head. “Quinn…” she says, catching Quinn’s gaze. “You are…” her fingers trail down what’s now Quinn’s bare chest, “even more flawless than I imagined.”  

Quinn gasps and arches up. The feeling of Rachel’s hands on her bare skin feels unbelievable. But it’s still not enough. Quinn wraps a strong arm around Rachel’s back and pulls down so that she can feel Rachel’s body against hers, and it makes her groan. “You feel so good,” she whispers, kissing any place she can reach, which happens to be Rachel’s shoulder.   

Even with plenty of newly revealed room for her hands to roam, Rachel can’t think about anything but kissing Quinn, so she adjusts her position until her mouth finds Quinn’s. Her hand glides down along the length of Quinn’s arm until she finds her hand and then she interlaces their fingers. Quinn is warm and soft underneath her and Rachel makes light sounds in the back of her throat every time they move against each other.   

Rachel’s hand in hers feels like some kind of promise between them, and Quinn is overwhelmed with all of the emotions she’s feeling.  

“Rachel,” she whispers. She’ll never get over the way Rachel moves. It’s like she’s dancing, just for Quinn. It also feels so enclosed in the tent, such an intimate space. Their breathing sounds like thunder.  
  They lay like that for a long time, kissing, holding hands. Learning one another. At some point, Quinn tugs one of the sleeping bags so that it’s draped over them, pooling at Rachel’s waist. After a while, Quinn feels that unmistakable need to have Rachel’s hands on her, or better yet— her mouth. Suddenly, all she can think of is how good it felt to have her mouth on Rachel’s body, and she wants to feel it for herself.  
  “You know, you can… kiss me…” Quinn is panting, and completely unsure of how to ask for what she wants. “Uh, other places too. If you want.”  

The humming sound Rachel makes is something of a cross between arousal and amusement. She leaves on more lingering kiss on Quinn’s lips, then works a row of kisses down her neck. “Like here?” She continues to the spot on Quinn’s collar bone that she’s learned is a key area in getting very good reactions. “And here?” It only makes sense that when she moves even further down, to the smooth pale skin of Quinn’s breast, that she’d get plenty of reactionary noises from Quinn. “And…” Her tongue wet a small spot of skin before she applies a little suction in an effort to pay Quinn back for the hickey she left on Rachel. 

“There, yes,” Quinn manages. She lets Rachel make the mark she's intent on making before guiding her head to a very specific location. She’s slightly embarrassed that she’s even thinking about Rachel kissing the nipple she’s been rolling between her fingers, and she guides her just enough to indicate what she wants and still let Rachel make the decision herself.   

Quinn’s suddenly making a very specific non-verbal request and Rachel’s completely willing to comply, she’s just never actually done this to anyone before. She approaches this the same way she has any other area where she’s already applied her lips and from the way Quinn gasps when mouth makes contact, she assumes she must be on the right track. Though… she doesn’t really want to make assumptions, so she glances up at Quinn and asks, “Is that… right?”  

“Yes,” Quinn gasps when she realizes that Rachel has stopped and is looking at her with a vaguely nervous expression. “It’s right. God, Rachel, keep going.”  

She winds her hand into Rachel’s hair and tries to urge her back to what she was doing. No one— no one— has ever kissed Quinn there before. She’s only ever been with Puck, once, and she was buzzed and not thinking clearly, and he had certainly never asked her if he could put his mouth on her nipples. She tries to remember— she’s not even sure she ever even let him get her top off.   

When she feels Rachel’s mouth on her again, she forgets all about any other experience she’s had before. Right now, there is only Rachel and Rachel’s mouth and the way her hair is cutting off the circulation in Quinn’s fingers.   

Any hesitation Rachel had about her lack of experience has vanished and her main goal becomes to see just what she can get Quinn to do or say in response to whatever Rachel does with her mouth. Her lips part and she darts her tongue across the already raised flesh, her eyes still focused on Quinn’s face. In all of this, she also feels it would be considerate to multi-task, so her hand skims upward over Quinn’s skin until she’s cupping the other breast.  

“Oh, fuck,” Quinn grits out and grapples at Rachel’s side with one hand and the back of her neck with the other, trying to get her closer. “God, you’re so good at that.”   

She’s finding it very hard to keep still, in light of the attention Rachel is paying her chest, and she moves her legs just so in order to feel Rachel more fully against her. It puts her in the position to hook her foot around the back of Rachel’s leg.   

Rachel can’t seem to resist audibly reacting whenever Quinn swears during their… more intimate encounters. In this case, it’s muffled against the skin of Quinn’s breast. Rachel lifts her head and says, “I normally don’t find vulgarities attractive but… I find that I’m increasingly turned on when you do that,” she admits. She’s about to resume what she’s been doing when she decides to swap to the opposing side. As she settles back down, she wonders if the results will be the same or if one is more sensitive that the other. She may have never actually done this before, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t spent some time with Google, in the past.  

Quinn’s now got one hand going absently up and down the back of Rachel’s arm. “It turns you on when I… swear?” Quinn questions. When lips close over new skin, skin that hasn’t yet been kissed, Quinn hisses in pleasure. “I honestly can’t help it, Rachel. The things you do…” Quinn feels Rachel’s tongue and bows up off the sleeping bag. “You’re so fucking sexy.”   

She can’t reach Rachel’s legs right now, but she reaches as far as she can and cups Rachel’s ass through her shorts.   

“God, Quinn!” Rachel mouth pulls away from it’s current task and she can’t seem to catch her breath. Between the profanity and the grip on her backside, she can’t concentrate. “If you keep that up… I… you’re… you might as well just take them off.”  

Quinn can’t help it— an image of Rachel in only her panties lying spread out on top of her invades her mind. “Oh my god.” She licks at very dry lips. “Do you— is that something you want? Because, honestly Rachel, once I feel that much of your body on mine, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.” 

Rachel pushes herself up so she’s closer to Quinn’s face. “If it’s something you want, I already told you I trust you.” She kisses the space just below Quinn’s jaw. “And I… if you’re comfortable with it… I want to feel as much of you as I can.” For the time being, she leaves out the detail that she’s already physically turned on to a near-embarrassing degree. 

Rachel’s words burn through her, and Quinn levels her with a look. “Take them off,” she says slowly, leaving no room for doubt that this is definitely something she wants.  
  The way Quinn’s looking at her just makes Rachel’s arousal situation that much more intense. She rolls to one side, off of Quinn, and quickly shucks the shorts off before she kicks them into a corner of the tent. “Where do you want me?” she asks, wondering if it’s completely obvious that she’s already soaked through her coordinating polka-dot panties.  
  “God.” Quinn is up and kneeling so she’s close enough to kiss Rachel and run her hands up and down Rachel’s legs. “You’re gorgeous,” she finally says, and kisses her again, deeply this time, and guiding her with the hand behind head to lay her down in the spot Quinn was just in. Then, with Rachel laying there watching her, chest rising and falling rapidly, Quinn slides her own shorts down her legs and tosses them aside.  
  She crawls up Rachel’s body, trailing her hand up Rachel’s leg, and then pauses on her knees just above Rachel’s bellybutton. She holds eye contact as she dips, presses an open-mouth kiss to Rachel’s stomach, and then nuzzles with her eyes closed. “God,” she groans, “I can— you smell so good.”  
  It’s almost as if everything Quinn says tonight is purposely designed to make Rachel want her, even more. She realizes she doesn’t actually know what the boundaries are tonight, or even if they have any. “I really need you to touch me,” she says, not even caring how Quinn interprets it. She just wants Quinn’s hands on her. Or her mouth. Or both.  
  Quinn is hovering over her instantly, kissing and licking at Rachel’s lips. She keeps a certain distance between them for as long as she can and then she’s settling down on top of Rachel. It’s skin on skin nearly all the way down, and the part that isn’t skin brushes against Quinn’s thigh and she groans into Rachel’s neck. “Jesus, Rachel,” Quinn breathes and skims her hand over Rachel’s stomach. It’s one of the softest parts of Rachel, and she likes the way the muscles feel beneath her fingers. “Where do you want me?” Quinn asks, turning Rachel’s own words around on her.   

“A-anywhere,” Rachel whimpers. “Everywhere. I don’t care. I just want you.” Every part of her that’s touching any part of Quinn feels absolutely electric. The more they move against each other, the closer she wants to be to Quinn. “I…” There’s a brief moment of clarity and she manages to pick out the detail, “I want your mouth on me.”  

Quinn wants that too, and the way that Rachel whimpering and moving against Quinn is just making her burn even hotter. She’s sucking on Rachel’s neck again, and then collarbone, and then her mouth is naturally seeking out the soft skin of Rachel’s breasts once again, while her hand rubs at Rachel’s thigh and fiddles subconsciously with the waistband of Rachel’s briefs.   

She can’t help but murmur words of encouragement across Rachel’s skin, and she knows the word ‘sexy’ comes up more than once.   

As Quinn’s fingers toy with the elastic band of her underwear, Rachel can’t keep her hips from lifting up off the sleeping bag, even if ever so slightly. The attention to her breasts, the fingers on her thigh, the sound of Quinn’s voice, she wants it all. But right now, there’s one desire that’s overriding everything else. Her hand drops down and grips Quinn’s wrist. She doesn’t move it very far, maybe two inches, but now Quinn shouldn’t have any questions about how turned on Rachel is in this moment. “Quinn… baby, please…”  
  It might be the way Rachel keeps canting her hips like she no longer has any control, or the way Quinn’s heart thuds when she hears Rachel call her ‘baby’ for the first time, or maybe it’s the amount of wet that’s covering her hand right now. It’s possibly a combination of all three that has Quinn groaning and rolling over Rachel and connecting with a hard kiss. She tries to keep her hand as still as possible and just get used to cupping Rachel here. It’s different, without pants. It’s more intimate, somehow, like everything Rachel has to offer is right there, and all Quinn has to do is take it.  
  The thought of taking Rachel causes another groan to rumble deep within Quinn’s chest.  
  “I like that,” she tells her, and presses against Rachel with two fingers, rubbing softly up and down. She watches Rachel’s face the entire time and is filled with wonder that it’s her touch that’s causing the eyes shut tightly and the labored breathing. Rachel looks— glorious is the only word Quinn can think of.  

She finally drops her head, closes her lips around Rachel’s earlobe, and then whispers, “Fuck, Rach, you feel so good. You have no idea what this is doing to me.”  
  “To you?” Rachel manages a sound that part groan, part laugh, though none of this is funny. It’s taking every ounce of resolve she has not to let her body move the way it wants to. It’s important that this lasts, that they don’t rush this. Her arms wrap around Quinn and she tries to anchor herself for the time being. There’s a thought, though, that nearly unravels her. “What would you say if I want you to… if I didn’t want anything else between us?”  
  “Oh my god.” It’s so overwhelming, what Rachel is asking, the only thing Quinn can think to do is bring Rachel’s left hand up so she can kiss the words on Rachel’s wrist. She leaves her eyes closed for a second and just breathes. When she opens them again, Rachel is watching her. She swallows. “I… I want to,” Quinn says, her voice barely a whisper. “I want to feel you.”  
  Rachel’s fingers trace Quinn’s cheek and as erotically charged as everything is right now, the moment also feels incredibly sweet. “You are absolutely amazing,” her voice is quiet but steady, because it’s something she truly believes. She tips her chin up to lightly kiss Quinn’s lips and it’s almost as if the initiated contact re-surges everything, because then she can’t stop kissing her.  
  Rachel kisses Quinn until she’s breathless, but Quinn can’t get Rachel’s request out of her mind. She dips her fingers below the waistband of Rachel’s panties and rubs softly at the skin there. “How do you— can I—” She bites her lip because she has never before in her life asked anyone if she can remove their underwear and she doesn’t want it to sound… well, cheap. Rachel thinks she’s absolutely amazing, and Quinn knows that Rachel is. She wants this to be special.  
  She tugs again, and when Rachel lifts her hips, Quinn shudders against her and pushes down until Rachel can kick them off. They’re under the sleeping bag, and Quinn is on top of her, but Quinn is still nervous that it’s too much.  
  “Is this okay?” she asks, dipping her fingers lower but not actually touching anything yet.  

It’s well beyond okay.  
  Somewhere, in the back of her mind, an idea sparks that she won’t even process until a time when Quinn Fabray isn’t stretched out over her naked body, waiting to… take her. Later, she’ll consider what her interpretation of Maria in West Side Story would have been like if this were her frame of reference.  
  Rachel nods and hums an, “Mmmhmm,” before adding, “I need you, Quinn. Please… I… I… I’m so… wet.” It’s the first time she’s ever actually said something like this and she assumed it would be incredibly embarrassing, but instead she feels empowered by it, particularly when she sees the look on Quinn’s face.  
  Quinn feels her own arousal intensify at Rachel’s words, and her answering kiss is fierce. It’s only when her mouth is pressed against Rachel’s, and she feels Rachel arch up into her that she allows her hand to finally sink down and touch her.  
  She can’t help her gasp, but instead of pulling away, she kisses Rachel harder until she just can’t breathe any more. When she finally tears away, her words are somehow hushed and strangled at the same time. “You are. God, Rachel. It feels…” She can’t even bring herself to say what it feels like, touching Rachel like this. She lets herself explore, gently, alternately searching Rachel’s face and pressing kisses to her heated skin.  

Quinn’s touch is gentle, even almost hesitant at first. Though it seems to Rachel that Quinn is getting more confident with each passing second.  
  “Oh…” Rachel takes great pride in her ability to communicate, but Quinn has reduced her to nothing but unintelligible sounds. If Quinn continues to move her fingers like that, though, Rachel won’t hold it against her. Words are only a fraction of communication, anyway. Rachel locks her foot around the back of Quinn’s leg and she pushes one of her hands up to tangle her fingers in Quinn’s hair.  
  Even though Quinn isn’t entirely undressed, by the barest of minimums, Rachel notices the sensation of heat against her thigh. Rachel wants to touch her, but that would require an adaptation of her position and she doesn’t want to draw Quinn’s attention away from what she’s currently doing.  
  “Rachel,” Quinn breathes, and once she’s said it once, she doesn’t want to stop. “Rachel, Rachel.” She’s never felt closer to another human being in her life, and it isn’t as scary as she thought it would be. It turns out, Rachel Berry is an indescribably sensual person and quite comfortable with intimate situations, once it’s all said and done.  
  Currently, the way Rachel is moving against Quinn, below her, is slowly driving Quinn crazy, and the foot hooked around her leg motivates her to nudge her thigh between Rachel’s and put some pressure behind what her hand is doing. This leaves Quinn suddenly straddling Rachel’s thigh, and when Rachel pushes it up into her, Quinn rolls her hips down automatically and cries out softly against her chest.  
  Her fingers are moving with more purpose now, except that she’s really still mostly concerned with just touching however she can.  
  “Quinn,” Rachel exhales the name instead of speaking it, because everything she’s doing right now is accompanied by heavy breathing. Her hand gropes downward, caressing any available span of skin until it stops to grip Quinn’s hip. There’s damp warmth against her thigh, something she hasn’t had a chance to experience when they’ve been in similar positions in the past, because there were always pants in the way. It’s almost as if Quinn’s underwear are non-existent. Almost.  
  It’s difficult for Quinn to keep from rolling her hips down against Rachel again, but she doesn’t want to be distracted. She wants to focus on how Rachel feels against her fingers, and how her hair smells, and how when she says Quinn’s name she’s sounds almost desperate. She’s always been good at focusing when she wants to, and right now, she wants to. She needs to remember everything about what is happening right now.  
  She’s propped on one elbow and can just reach Rachel’s hair, which she smooths away from a forehead that is getting increasingly damp. She can’t help her kisses any more than she can help whispering, “you look amazing, Rachel, so beautiful,” between them.  
  Rachel can’t keep her hips still and there really isn’t any reason why she needs to try, so she finds herself rocking against Quinn’s hand and making incoherent sounds every time she does. What Quinn is doing feels absolutely incredible and Rachel is content to let her do it all night or forever or both.  
  That said, there’s something she wants, but she doesn’t know if she should ask for it. Or even how to ask. But they’ve already made it this far and she’s naked with Quinn on top of her, so… what does she have to lose, really?  
  “Quinn,” it takes a moment for her to find her voice and even then, it’s hard to say anything more than a couple words at a time. “If you… wanted to go… inside… I’d really like that.”  
  All that Quinn knows is that Rachel is rocking against her hand, rocking up with her hips and making these sounds that just sound— god. So when Rachel starts talking to her, it takes her a full minute to register what she’s saying. She slows her hand down and blinks, trying to make sense of what Rachel is asking her. Her eyebrows furrow and she shakes her head the tiniest bit, her hair swaying with the motion.  
  “Inside…?” Quinn asks stupidly. And then Rachel is half-huffing, half-laughing and grabbing Quinn’s wrist to move it down, and Quinn’s eyes widen with understanding. “Oh my god,” she groans, dropping her head to Rachel’s shoulder and trying to wrap her mind around this new step in their… relationship. “Rachel, I have no idea what I’m doing—” she begins, but her words trail off as she’s now faced with the feeling of being inside Rachel Berry.  
  “You’re… god, Quinn… doing fine.” Rachel turns her head and buries her face into Quinn’s shoulder, one arm wrapped around Quinn’s back. She wants to allow Quinn to continue setting the pace, but her body isn’t complying. Instead, her hips pitch forward, then pull back. It’s too much effort to keep her head tucked against Quinn, so Rachel lets it drop back against the sleeping bag. When she looks up, she sees Quinn looking at her with wide eyes and parted lips, it hits Rachel just how much this progression means, not just for her, but for the both of them.  
  Everything slows, for Quinn. The pure trust in Rachel’s eyes, the sweat on her skin. She’s allowed Quinn this, to see her, completely open, and it makes Quinn feel like she’s full. There’s no room in her chest, in her head, in any part of her, for anything else.  
  She takes her time, though Rachel seems to be trying to goad her into going faster. She’s not interested in fast, not tonight. She wants this, and she’s not afraid anymore. She presses in and up, watches Rachel’s eyes flutter, while her other hand smooths Rachel’s hair. Quinn is fascinated by everything.  
  “Rachel, baby,” she presses into Rachel’s ear. She knows how the term of affection made her feel when Rachel used it on her, and she’s curious to see how it feels on her own lips.  
  It gives Rachel an intense, heated rush when she hears what Quinn says. It also may have something to do with the way Quinn’s naturally low tone resonates in her ear. It’s everything, actually. Everything in this moment, everything that’s happened this summer, everything she sees when Quinn actually opens up and genuinely smiles at her, all of that has led up to what she’s feeling as she lies on her back in a tent, while Quinn is… everywhere.  
  “Please… do not stop… whatever you’re doing…” Rachel isn’t particularly concerned about Quinn losing interest and switching tasks, but she wants to be clear that she’s content with whatever’s happening, even if she has no specific idea what that might be.  
  Quinn’s laugh is low in her throat. If Rachel really thinks that she would stop… “I’m not going anywhere, Rach,” she promises and alters her angle slightly. “You feel so good.”  
  It’s barely a whisper, but it feels like everything she’s ever wanted to say.  
  Again, there are too many factors for Rachel to pinpoint what exactly is causing the reaction she’s having, but between the words and the way Quinn’s wrist shifts, Rachel’s immediately clawing her fingertips into Quinn’s back. “Quinn.” She’s lucky the name that keeps pushing it’s way out of her lips is only one syllable, because at least she can manage it. “If you keep… oh god… I’m… oh my god…” She’s clinging so tightly to Quinn and her lower body can’t stop rocking into the hand that’s between her legs.  
  Quinn can’t remember ever growling before in her life, but with the way Rachel is digging into her back, and with her panting so hard she can’t even finish a sentence, and with what’s happening right now to Quinn’s hand, Quinn loses just a little bit of her carefully constructed control. The leg between Rachel’s legs comes up just a little harder and pushes her hand into Rachel just a little bit deeper.  
  She wants to hear this. She wants Rachel to tell her everything about what she’s feeling, but it doesn’t seem like there’s time. It doesn’t matter that she tried so hard to draw this out, it’s going to be over far too quickly. For all Quinn knows, it’s been hours, but it’s still not long enough to have Rachel like this.  
  When Quinn’s leg adds that final bit of pressure, Rachel loses complete voluntary control of her body, which goes rigid as her arms lock around Quinn and her eyes roll back behind tightly shut eyelids. Despite her handful of sexual experiences, she can’t recall ever feeling so intensely stimulated, before.  
  Everything is suddenly in conflict with everything else. She wants to be able to breathe without moving, she wants to curl into Quinn but at the same time she doesn’t know if she can handle any extended contact, she wants to cry and laugh and kiss Quinn all at once. It’s all overwhelming, but it doesn’t take long for the world to settle back into place and soon her breathing has slowed a little and she’s able to blink her eyes open to see Quinn looking back at her. 

It’s nothing short of breathtaking, what happens to Rachel in Quinn’s arms. She honest-to-god feels like she can’t get enough air, but by the time Rachel drifts back to earth and lazily opens her eyes, the only thing Quinn can do is look. She keeps her hand as still as possible when she leans up to place a gentle kiss on Rachel’s lips. When she pulls back, she smiles, a genuine honestly happy smile. There might even be tears in her eyes, or maybe it’s just so hot in the tent that she feels like there is.

“Hi,” she says softly. It’s her way of making sure Rachel is okay.  
  “Hi,” Rachel replies, as a drowsy, lopsided smile appears on her face. “You… that was… wow.”  
  Quinn bites her lip. “Yeah? It was really okay?” She smooths her thumb over Rachel’s temple. She saw the reaction. Tiny shudders are still rolling through Rachel’s body, but still she needs to hear it. This was such a big thing for Quinn, and she needs to know that Rachel— that it was okay. Slowly, she pulls her hand from Rachel’s body. It’s covered completely in… well, in Rachel, and she’s not sure what the proper thing to do is. She settles for wiping it on the sleeping bag before bringing it to rest on Rachel’s hip.  
  Rachel nods and, even though it takes more effort than should be necessary, brings her hand up to Quinn’s face. “Yes, it was really okay. More than, actually.” She wants to say something more profound, but it’s still too soon to attempt anything with depth that isn’t going to be too much.  
  Now that Quinn no longer needs the leverage, she lets herself down gently until she’s lying flush against Rachel. Now it’s just them, breathing, being together, and Quinn is aware of Rachel’s skin against hers. She’s not sure it’s something she’ll ever get used to. She smiles against Rachel’s neck, because she has never felt more incredible in her life.  
  There’s no way for Rachel to determine how long they lie there, but eventually, she feel less like melting into Quinn and more like wanting to climb on top of her. She places a hand on Quinn’s shoulder and nudges her. “If you don’t mind, I think I’d like you on your back,” she says, before kissing the space where Quinn’s jaw meets her neck.  
  “Rachel,” Quinn murmurs, “you really don’t have to— It’s enough for me to be able to…” She’s blushing, she can feel it, when she nods down to Rachel’s body. All the things she could say to finish that thought are just… too explicit to say out loud, even considering what she’s just experienced. She sits up anyway and drops to the side so she’s half-reclining next to Rachel. Mostly so she can talk to her. “I’ve really never felt better in my life than I do right now.”  
  “And you,” Rachel says, between the kisses she’s still pressing to Quinn’s neck, despite the attempted change in position, “made me feel incredible.” She pulls away to actually look at Quinn. “I just really would like to,” her fingers trail up Quinn’s arm, “touch you. If that’s okay.” She isn’t sure if Quinn just doesn’t want her to feel obligated or if Quinn legitimately doesn’t want to do anything else, but she plans to find out.  
  The fingers trailing up her arm make her shiver, and she closes her eyes for a second to steady herself. When she opens them again, it’s to look as deeply into Rachel’s eyes as she can before biting her lip and sinking back on the sleeping bag. The space between them gives her enough room to let her eyes wander, but she catches herself and forces them back to Rachel’s face.  
  “I told you once,” she says. “You can touch me. Whenever you want. You just don’t have to.”  
  “Quinn,” Rachel’s tone shifts, “you’ve known me for how long? When was the last time I did something simply because I had to?” Her hand drifts across Quinn’s body, pausing to allow her fingertips to graze over a breast, then it continues across her stomach. “I want to… I want you.”  
  Quinn shifts until she’s in the space Rachel was just occupying, and she has to take a moment because it’s wet. With Rachel. When she’s ready, she shoots Rachel a look, and even though she’s flat on her back, she hopes that it still holds the same levity. “Rachel, I’m right here.” This next part is trickier because it’s probably the raciest thing Quinn has ever said in her life. She says it mostly to see what effect it will have on Rachel, but also because her entire body is humming and she just wants Rachel to touch her. “If you want me, then take me.”  
  Rachel’s still high on her very recent orgasm and what Quinn’s saying just takes her higher. “God, Quinn, if you only knew…” Knew what? What is she even saying? Words aren’t important right now, she decides, and she rakes her fingers down Quinn’s thigh. “Would you be okay with taking those off?” she asks, dropping a glance downward, toward Quinn’s panties.  
  Quinn is torn. On one hand, she absolutely wants them off. They’re wet and sticky and uncomfortable and she wants Rachel to be able to touch her freely. On the other, she still hasn’t really seen Rachel properly and she herself feels incredibly exposed, just laying here like this. She’s not ashamed of her body— not anymore. She knows that she looks good because she’s spent a lot of time and energy making herself look good.  
  She ends up tugging the sleeping bag over her legs to provide a kind of barrier and then locks eyes with Rachel and nods.  
  There are so many things Rachel doesn’t understand about Quinn, yet so many other things she understands completely. She isn’t sure why Quinn feels the need to be covered up, but she respects it. She knows it isn’t personal, because Quinn’s about to let her take off the one remaining item of clothing she has on.  
  She carefully tugs the underwear down, then shoves them aside. Even though she can’t see all of Quinn, right now, she doesn’t need to in order to say, “You’re absolutely beautiful,” as her eyes wander over Quinn’s face.  
  Quinn has blushed so many times tonight, but this is different. It could feel like Rachel is examining her, but it doesn’t. Rachel brings a certain energy to everything she does, and there’s a warmth in her eyes right now. Quinn feels… appreciated.  
  Now, she knows. It’s not the heat in the tent. There are definitely tears in her eyes. The past three years weigh heavily on her, still, and every so often she can hear herself breaking down in front of her only real friends in a moment of weakness and telling them how much she’s always wanted to feel loved. It used to make her feel sick, that weakness, but now, looking into such warm, tender eyes, she only feels lucky. Lucky that Rachel wants this with her. Even if it isn’t love, even if— there’s at least an affection there, and Quinn is overwhelmed by how much it means to her.  
  “Thank you,” Quinn murmurs and then lets her fingers find those words on Rachel’s wrist and trace over them in a flutter.  
  Rachel twists her hand until her fingers find Quinn’s and she settles them together as she leans down to kiss Quinn. Her free hand trails over a thigh until it settles on a bare hipbone and traces light patterns there for a few seconds before it inches back down. It’s somewhat nerve-wracking to do this to someone other than herself and she immediately has a new found respect for Quinn being able to jump into this as smoothly as she did. Nervous or not, she wants to touch Quinn more than just about anything else she can think of in this moment (winning a Tony notwithstanding), so she dips her fingers down and groans when they come in contact with slick heat. 

“Oh my god,” she mutters, and quickly understands exactly why it was the same sentiment Quinn used earlier.   

Quinn’s hips stay completely still as she tries to get used to feeling another person’s fingers on this part of her body, but her apprehension doesn’t stop a hiss of pleasure from escaping her lips. Rachel’s body against hers, her fingers moving slowly, Rachel’s verbal reaction in her ear. Quinn’s only recourse is to squeeze Rachel’s hand tightly in hers and hold on.  

Rachel takes a minute to familiarize herself with what Quinn reacts to best. She tries a few different styles of movement and settles on the one that elicits actual groans from Quinn. “You have no idea how sexy you are,” she says as she watches Quinn attempt to continue to restrain herself.  

It happens accidentally, the first time. Quinn doesn’t feel exactly right, the way she’s positioned, and when she adjusts, it only serves to push her down into Rachel’s fingers. “Fuck,” she curses without meaning to, but it just feels so good. It isn’t long until she’s rocking down regularly to meet Rachel’s movements. Every so often a soft expletive escapes in a breath and then she’s rocking down again.   

Her hand stays locked tightly in Rachel’s, and she thinks that she needs that connection somehow for this step between them. The other hand scratches up and down Rachel’s back.   

The nails on her back momentarily distract her, but Rachel quickly regains her focus and tries to repeatedly recreate whatever has Quinn groaning and cursing in her ear. “Is this… enough? If you want me to do anything else… I… just tell me.”  

“It’s good,” Quinn gasps. “It feels good.” It takes a minute for Quinn to register what Rachel is asking, and when she does, she asks, “What do you want to do?” It’s not something she’s thought before, but this situation— this experience— makes Quinn think about how it feels to have Rachel in the position she’s in. She finally says, “I trust you, Rachel,” and she’s willing to bet that Rachel Berry has no idea how long it has taken Quinn Fabray to get to the point where she can honestly say that she trusts another person this intimately.   

Rachel’s immediate response is to place a gentle, lingering kiss on Quinn’s lips… for about three seconds. Then it develops into something more intense, more hungry. She wants to show Quinn how amazing she is, she wants Quinn to feel the way Quinn made her feel.  

It’s funny how there are often so many lines and boundaries that exist and yet, the actual crossing of them doesn’t feel as momentous as she assumed it would. One second she’s kissing Quinn, the next she’s… engaged in a connection she once never even imagined was possible. “… just tell me if you want me to stop, okay?” And she will, if she has to, but she sincerely hopes that isn’t the case, because she’s almost positive it would give her withdrawls of some kind.   

“Yes,” Quinn hisses, and her hips automatically shoot up. It’s a little tight, and there’s a few seconds of discomfort, but mostly she didn’t know that anything could feel this good. Rachel is gentle, and with every stroke of her wrist it feels like she’s connecting deeper and deeper with Quinn. “God, you have no idea…” She licks her lips, tries again. “What you do to me…”  

 Again, Rachel experiments a little with her movements, keeping a close eye on Quinn for any indication about what is and isn’t working. She wants this to be as perfect for Quinn as possible. She’s also convinced that Quinn’s wrong, because she does have some idea of what she does to Quinn, if the ease at which her fingers are moving are any indication. It’s a little obscene, but that just fuels her further.  

“Oh my god,” Quinn moans. “That. Do that again. God.”   

She can’t tell what Rachel is doing, but at this point the only thing that matters is what it’s making her feel.   Rachel repeats what she’s just done and with the way Quinn reacts by arching up off the sleeping bags, she assumes it’s the right thing. Still, it doesn’t hurt to ask. “You like that?”  

Quinn grips Rachel’s arm and nods her head furiously. “Rachel— more.” She feels like she’s forgetting how to speak, one word at a time. It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is Rachel and her fingers.   

“God, Quinn,” Rachel groans as she does her best to comply with Quinn’s request. She feels more and more intoxicated with the woman under her every time she moves. “Baby, I just want to make you feel as…” She can barely recall that she even started a sentence in the first place. “… amazing as you made me feel.”  

“Jesus, Rachel.” Quinn’s body is on fire. “When you call me ‘baby,’ I just…” Instead of finishing her thought, she catches Rachel by the back of the neck and drags her down into a kiss.   

Quinn’s entire body is moving, trying to get the right amount of friction. She’s very flexible, and her legs are open wider than they were a moment ago. It kind of makes her feel dirty in a way, to be this desperate to get closer, but it’s not a bad feeling. It’s surprisingly very, very good.   

The way Quinn’s moving suggests to Rachel that she’s on the right track and she stays her course, even though she can’t see anything while she’s kissing Quinn. Not that she minds, because Quinn is offering up these hungry, wanting kisses that force her to choose between more contact and oxygen.  

One of Quinn’s legs hooks behind Rachel’s and pulls her closer. It’s not that it’s fast. It’s that Rachel is utterly focused on making this happen. She turns her wrist a certain way, and her fingers hit a spot inside of Quinn that makes Quinn arch and gasp. “Oh! Oh, Rach… right there. Fuck!” She pulls for another kiss, though it’s really more like panting into Rachel’s mouth. “Please… I’m so close…”  

Rachel kisses back, then drops her head down to rest her forehead against Quinn’s shoulder. She needs to concentrate because Quinn’s counting on her, Quinn trusts her, and if Rachel has anything to do with it, this is going to be just right. She continues the same movement she’s been making, but she rocks her body against Quinn’s at the same time, somewhat emulating what happened between them when the situation was reversed.   

The second Rachel starts rocking, Quinn groans her approval and brings her leg up higher on Rachel’s waist so that her heel is digging into the back of Rachel’s thigh. Every time Rachel rocks, Quinn arches up to meet her and squeezes at the same time. Soon, there’s a steady repetition of Rachel’s name on Quinn’s lips. She knows she must sound frantic, but it doesn’t slow her down.   

“God, Quinn…” Rachel pants. Quinn’s suddenly taken control and she’s entirely fine with that, she just needs to know what the next step is. “What should I…” It’s too difficult to talk, so she just follows Quinn’s lead and keeps finding that spot that makes Quinn groan.  

Quinn lasts another few rocks before she can’t take it anymore. All at once, she tenses up, and that newly discovered wave of pleasure starts low and rolls up over her. Rachel hits that spot one final time, and Quinn is coming undone with a cry into Rachel’s neck.   

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Quinn pants into sweat-slicked skin, and Rachel holds her while she catches her breath. “That was… oh my god. Rachel.”   

They lay there in a tangle of limbs and hair— Rachel still smells amazing— and Quinn pulls the sleeping bag higher up over them.   

“Yeah, it was.” Rachel kisses Quinn’s shoulder then pushes herself up on her arm just enough to look at Quinn. “You were right. We didn’t need the compass,” she says, biting her lip before she laughs at her own joke.  

Quinn’s fingers find their way into Rachel’s hair. “I told you I wouldn’t let us die out here.”  

Rachel lies back down and watches her fingers trail back and forth over Quinn’s collar bone. “I think it’s safe to say that you’re my favorite survival expert.”   

“Oh! Speaking of, your present.” Quinn reaches for her bag and manages to get the zipper open with one hand while holding Rachel against her securely with the other. She pulls out a small package wrapped in brown paper and hands it over with a smirk. “To help keep you safe when you get to New York. Just in case.”  

Despite the fact that Rachel is entirely content, her ears can’t help but perk up at the word ‘present.’ “Quinn…” she turns to rest on her back so she can have both hands free to open the gift. It feels like a book, but she can’t even imagine how that would keep her safe. As she peels back the paper, it quickly becomes evident that she was wrong, not about what it is, but about it lacking purpose. “The Zombie Survival Guide?” She knows it’s a joke, but she actually feels warmed by the fact that Quinn wants to protect her, even when they’re hundreds of miles apart.  

Quinn rolls on her side so that she can cascade her fingers up and down Rachel’s arm and press a few kisses to her bare shoulder while she opens the gift. “Mhm,” Quinn affirms. “I thought, since we didn’t really watch Zombieland, and I know how much you like to be prepared…” She’s twirling a strand of Rachel’s hair now, while Rachel flips through the book. “I expect you to be able to give me some lessons by the time I’m able to visit.”  

Rachel’s eyes flash as she looks up from the pages. “I love thorough preparation.” She reaches up and gently urges Quinn’s closer. “Thank you,” she says softly, “and I’ll teach you everything I’ve learned, so be ready for that,” then she kisses Quinn through the smile that’s crept onto her face.  

“Mmm, good. Are you tired?” Quinn pulls the sleeping bag over them and snuggles up to Rachel’s side, draping and arm across her and tucking her hand between Rachel’s back and the sleeping bag and pulling her closer. She’s nuzzling softly when she says, “Can you reach the lantern?”  

“I am slightly exhausted,” Rachel admits. Her eyes are already closed when Quinn asks about the lamp. “Hmm,” she makes a lazy attempt to reach toward it. “Your arms are longer.”  

“Rachel, the lantern is on your side of the tent. Just roll over and turn it off.” Quinn doesn’t think she sounds irritated, because sleepy Rachel is kind of adorable, but it doesn’t really matter because she’s right.   

This time, Rachel makes the actual effort and easily reaches the switch on the lantern. Once it clicks off, she snuggles back into Quinn. “Better?”  

“Yes,” Quinn mumbles. She thinks that she also says something about it not being so hard, but she can’t be sure because she’s already falling asleep with her arms wrapped snugly around Rachel.


	22. What Not To Wear

It’s crunch time.

In less than two weeks, Rachel will be in New York City and she still has so many little things to sort out before she leaves. Today’s task is to finalize her college wardrobe and in order to make sure she makes all the correct decisions, Kurt is present and currently flipping through an issue of ItalianVogue while Rachel piles the contents of her closet onto her bed.

“Someone on tumblr already said to bring a lot of black. Does that sound right? I think that sounds right.” She stands with her hands on her hips as she surveys the mass of clothing in front of her.

Kurt lifts a perfectly sculpted eyebrow but doesn’t look up from his magazine. “Please tell me that you’re not taking fashion advice from someone on the internet. Though, in this case, whoever it was happens to be right. Blacks and grays, with accents. Reds, blues, yellows. You look best in bright colors.” When Rachel stops piling clothes on the bed, he examines what they have to work with. “Is this everything?” 

“Yes. Well, no. There’s still underwear and socks. And leg warmers. But I didn’t know if those count or not.” Rachel assumes Kurt won’t want to dig through her underwear drawer and she hopes he doesn’t think too much about the socks, because she’s fairly certain he’ll tell her to throw out the few pairs of knee highs she has left. The leg warmers are safe because they’re practical. She hopes.

“Yes, they count, and no, you can’t take them. Rachel, this is New York. If you need a pair of leg warmers for an actual dance class at NYADA, you can buy a new pair.” He absently runs a finger along his hairline. “I don’t care to see your underwear, so we’ll just have to hope they’re acceptable. It’s not like you’ll be showing them to anyone for a few weeks at least,” he says dryly, flipping the page in Vogue. 

“You’re frequently seen in public with someone who wears bow ties and loafers without socks, but I’m expected to leave behind all of my legwarmers?” Rachel shakes her head. “I’ll cut my selection down to a couple pairs, but I’ll need some if I’m going to work out in the dorm fitness center.” She doesn’t even want to discuss that any further so she picks up a skirt and removes it from the hangar. “And I don’t plan on showing anyone in the city my underwear, thank you.” There’s a pause as she considers the reality of that statement. “My roommate might see them, I suppose.”

“Okay, first of all? Blaine’s wardrobe isn’t on trial here; yours is. Secondly, if you must take some leg warmers with you to New York, please promise me that you’ll only wear them to work out in. And,” Kurt twists the top off his bottle of Evian and takes a drink, “unless you plan on sleeping with your roommate, it’s a moot point.” 

“I do not plan on sleeping with them. Whoever they are.” Rachel won’t even meet the person she’s expected to live with until she actually gets to school and she’s mildly anxious about it. “And I’m going to New York for educational and professional reasons, not to launch a series of Sex and the City style hook-ups.”

Kurt smirks. “You might change your mind by the time we’re done with your wardrobe update. You could have a different guy on your arm every single night. You have to be ready for anything.” 

Rachel looks up from the sweater she’s folding. She and Kurt haven’t seen much of each other all summer and they certainly haven’t had any heart-to-hearts, lately. “I could… I just can’t guarantee I’ll be interested.” She wants to tell him about Quinn, but she’s also concerned with maintaining Quinn’s privacy. But she really wants to tell him.

Maybe if she doesn’t bring it up, she can avoid talking about it.

Kurt laughs and goes back to flipping lazily through Vogue . “You’re telling me that if the leading man in your first NYADA production happens to be all over you because of your killer new fashion sense (thank you very much) that you’re just going to shoot him down? Come on, Rachel. That sweater goes in the no pile, by the way.” 

“I’m surprised that you, of all people, would be so gender exclusive in your hypothetical scenarios.” Rachel sighs as she places the sweater in the box with ‘NO’ scrawled on the side.

Kurt’s mouth hangs open for a full ten seconds. “Gender exclusive? What on earth are you talking about? I’m not trying to be exclusive, but Rachel, you date men. Well, boys, in Puck’s case.”

“I have, yes. And maybe I will again, but…” Rachel casually picks up the next item of clothing, which is the red and white dress she wore to the fair with Quinn. “A lot has happened this summer.”

Suddenly, Kurt is all ears. He sits up so quickly, he has to steady his Evian from tipping over on the bed. “I’m sorry, what? What has happened this summer? That dress is a yes. Spring or summer only, no sweater.”

Rachel smiles to herself as she places the dress back in her closet. When she turns back around to face Kurt, she says, “Okay, but I really need you to keep this to yourself. Specifically, you cannot talk to Finn about this. Not because I’m self-conscious about it, but I have no idea how he’ll react and you have a lot of very nice, expensive chairs in your home…” It sounds silly, but she’s serious. “And… more than that, I’d prefer to discuss it with him myself.”

Rachel seems flightier than usual, and Kurt is really starting to become alarmed. “You’ve done something that would make Finn destroy a chair? After breaking off your engagement? Rachel, what did you do?”

“I’ve been engaged in a seasonal romance with another woman,” Rachel says, as plainly as possible.

Kurt really doesn’t know what to say. It’s entirely possible that Rachel is freaking out about going to New York and is consequently making up delusions in her head. As far as he knows, she’s never even looked at a girl in her life, let alone want to have a… seasonal romance with one. It’s best if he approaches this logically, without freaking out. “Wait… define ‘seasonal romance.’” 

Rachel pushes a few sweaters aside so she can sit next to Kurt. “We started hanging out, just casually, but that eventually developed and we… went out a couple times before agreeing to be exclusive until I leave. We aren’t in a relationship, but we’re… certainly enjoying each other on a physical level.”

This doesn’t make any sense. Rachel, who’s never been attracted to a girl as far as he knows, is enjoying another girl on a physical level? Which, frankly, just makes him want to shudder, but that’s beside the point. “So, let me get this straight. You’re exclusive, but… you’re not in a relationship?” He takes a slow sip of Evian and wonders who in the world Rachel Berry could be talking about. 

“Correct,” Rachel nods. “And, personally, I would have been fine with being summer girlfriends, but she’s… ” There’s really only one word to describe her: Quinn. 

The factor of Quinn’s preference to keep her private life exactly that resurfaces in Rachel’s mind. Then again, when Quinn does come to visit her in the city, there’s always the chance that Kurt will see them together. Even with millions of people around, they’ll be running in the same circles and likely living in the same building. “She’s Quinn, Kurt.”

Kurt’s Evian goes down the wrong pipe, and he comes up coughing. He covers his mouth with his hand and leans forward, trying to stop the sensation of drowning. There are tears in his eyes when he looks up at Rachel again. “Quinn Fabray?” Kurt sputters. Rachel looks completely serious, but that might just be because she’s concerned for him, and by the time he stops coughing, he’s convinced that he heard her wrong. “That’s very funny, Rachel, but I hardly think a girl like Quinn would be amused to hear that you were implying something like that about her, even as a joke.” 

“It isn’t a joke.” Rachel’s irritated that Kurt isn’t taking her seriously and she’s offended that he assumes Quinn would be so closed-minded. “And, for the record, even if I were making it up, I don’t think it would be as upsetting to her as you seem to think it would be. She’s best friends with Santana, so why would it bother her? And, anyway, it’s the truth. We’ve been physically intimate on multiple occasions.”

“Oh my god.” Kurt’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows arch up. “You’re serious.” He’s not sure exactly what to say. This is Rachel with Quinn, and it’s just… he never would have thought. He takes a minute to process and then says, “You and… Quinn… have been exclusive, but you’re not dating?” He’s known both of them for years. He’s watched them fight over the same boy for years. It just doesn’t make any— There’s only one question he has to ask. “How long?” 

“About a month?” Rachel isn’t even sure what the starting point was for them. “We were just working on being friends, but I… realized I was attracted to her. And she turned me down, at first. But we,” the more she thinks about the last several weeks, the more she can see how they’ve fallen in sync with each other, “have fun together. We’ve been to an art showing and to the county fair. She got me to climb a rock wall. We even went camping in the backyard this weekend.” The memory is still fresh enough that she can’t think about it without blushing.

The blush on Rachel’s face is all the truth Kurt needs. He exhales slowly. “Holy shit.” He feels alarm for a second and then decides that the situation calls for a little cursing, but he adds the obligatory, “excuse my French,” just as soon as he can. And then, there are a million thoughts in his head all at once. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” is the first one. And then not far behind that is, “What’s going to happen when you leave in a few weeks?”

“Less than two weeks.” Rachel’s face falls for a moment, but then it shifts to forced resolve. “She’s staying here. I’m going to New York. We knew that going in.” She picks up a skirt she hasn’t worn since sophomore year and tosses it into the ‘NO’ box. “And what was I supposed to tell you? ‘Guess what? Quinn and I can’t keep our hands out of each other’s pants. Tell Blaine we say hi.’?”

Kurt is horrified. “Oh my god, Rachel, I can’t hear these things.” He swings his legs over the side of Rachel’s bed and sits up. “Okay, okay, let’s just think about this rationally for a second. You’re going to New York, and she’s staying here, fine. But if you have such an-” Kurt clears his throat. “-unstoppable time together, why break things off? You’ve already said you’re exclusive.” He hands Rachel another skirt. “This one too.”

With a pout, Rachel dumps the second skirt into the box. “I don’t know. It’s just easier this way. I mean, maybe we’ll work something out. But, right now, we’re just having a good time together.” The next garment is a sweater she’s outgrown, so it joins the last two skirts. “I just want her to figure out what she wants. For herself.” The last thing Rachel cares to experience is Finn redux. Not that Quinn and Finn are anything alike on a personal level, but both of them seem to believe they’re condemned by the Lima Curse when neither of them really are.

“Is that all you’re doing?” Kurt asks, and then he waits until Rachel looks at him. “What do you want?” 

Rachel shrugs. “More time?” She knows that answer carries a lot with it. “I definitely have feelings… about this. And if she would just realize she could pack up her car tomorrow and go wherever she wants, this would be a lot easier.” There’s a sigh as she leans against her pile of clothes. “Especially if she wanted to go to New York.”

“And she doesn’t? Want to go to New York? Rachel, I’m confused. What is it exactly about what the two of you are doing that isn’t dating?” 

“I know it probably seems irrational to you, but… it’s the only way to make it work, right now. And… it wouldn’t be fair to either of us to expect something from the other when we’ve only been seeing each other for a couple of months.” It’s the rational explanation. “Finn and I were together for much longer and we still hadn’t really worked out any kind of plan by the time we’d broken up.”

“And you and Quinn do? Have a plan?” Kurt asks gently. The shock has worn off by now, and Kurt is mostly just concerned about Rachel. “Because you just implied that you’re trying to make it work. If it’s casual…” He’s not sure how to finish his thought without sounding harsh. “I just want to make sure you’re not setting yourself up to get hurt.”

“I’m not setting myself up for anything other than to go to New York so I can begin the next stage of my life, on-stage.” Rachel knows she probably looks naive in regard to the situation with Quinn, but Kurt isn’t the one in the… relationship, she is. “And she’s made it clear that she has no intention of hurting me,” she says, quietly.

“And you believe her? No offense, Rachel, but you and Quinn don’t exactly have the world’s best track record.” Kurt thinks he might be making a hasty judgement, but his only real experience that involved the two of them together involved Quinn helping to set Rachel up for a very distinct Grease-themed failure with Finn. He adds, “Maybe I just haven’t had the opportunity to see you together. Do you think she’d want to get together, the four of us, before we leave?” 

“She’s not who she used to be, Kurt. At least not entirely.” Rachel considers Kurt’s offer and appreciates that he’s at least willing to re-evaluate based on personal observation. “I… honestly don’t know. I mean, I’m sure she’d be fine with the four of us getting together, I just need to see how she feels about… you knowing.”

Kurt’s lips are a thin line. “I see,” is all he says, picking up a pair of pants and running his hand across the material. “I’ll need to see you in these before I can make a decision.” He tosses them on the bed. “If she doesn’t want to, I understand,” he offers, and Rachel just looks kind of lost, so he tries to perk her up. “At least tell me that you’re happy.” 

Rachel’s brief feeling of uncertainty is lifted when Kurt asks about her happiness. That’s not difficult. “I’m happy,” she says, an easy smile on her face. “I know it must sound crazy, all of this, especially hearing everything at once, but she’s incredible, Kurt.” She tries to think of a way to explain the way she sees Quinn. “Did you ever see her in glee club when someone else was performing and she looked like she was actually enjoying herself?”

“I think there may have been one time I saw her smile, yes.” Kurt doesn’t want to admit that Quinn never looked happier than she did in glee club. “So?”

“That’s how she is when we’re together.” Sure, it’s much more complex than that, but it’s a start.

Kurt thinks that maybe saying ‘I’ll believe that when I see it’ might be a little too harsh, especially considering all the changes Quinn went through her senior year. What he ends up saying is, “It’s about time she had something good like that in her life again,” and he hopes that Rachel can see in his eyes how seriously he means it. 

Rachel nods slightly. “Yeah, it is.” She fishes a blouse with a huge yellow bow on it out of the pile. “This?”

“Rachel, the only possible thing to do with that is burn it.”


	23. Rachel Berry: Midnight Caller

When she opens her eyes, it’s dark, but she doesn’t reach for the light. Instead, Rachel gropes around for her phone and dives back under her covers, letting the screen illuminate the pocket she’s created around her. She pulls up Quinn “Digital (Digi-Z) Zoom” Fabray on her contact list and selects the name.

She hopes Quinn picks up. She always does when Rachel calls her like this, in the middle of the night. Even before they were officially… not-dating. It’s a little earlier than usual, but she knows Quinn has work in the morning.

This time, as usual, the nightmare is a product of her reading material. Despite the factual nature of The Zombie Survival Guide, which Rachel actually appreciates, it still centers around zombie attacks. She doesn’t particularly like to think about them and the dream she just escaped was full of them. And, it doesn’t seem to make a difference if zombies are singing and dancing, because they made her equally as anxious as the ones who simply groan and eat human flesh.

The phone rings in her ear as she waits for an answer.

When Quinn hears “Let’s Get It On” coming from her phone, she knows who it is, well before she sees “Berrylicious” flash across the screen. She wasn’t asleep— not really. She’s been going to bed earlier since she started her job at the studio, but she can’t break the habit of staying up later than she should, and she’s actually just laid down. 

She’s happy to talk to Rachel at any hour, but when it’s this late, there’s usually something wrong. She’s already frowning when she slides her finger across the screen. 

“Hey,” she says softly. 

“Did I wake you up?” Rachel asks. Her voice sounds louder than she expects and she tucks herself even deeper under the covers. “I had another stupid dream.”

“Rach. I’m sorry,” Quinn says. And then, “I wasn’t really asleep,” because she doesn’t know how to ask what happened. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I just hate waking up so scared.” Rachel reluctantly makes an attempt to recall the dream. “It was actually pretty silly, now that I think about it. But… You were there and then you weren’t…”

Quinn sucks in a breath. Rachel has nightmares easily but this is the first one, as far as she knows, about her. “What do you need?” she asks after a minute of listening to Rachel’s breathing. 

Something about the way Quinn asks that question makes Rachel feel warm inside. “Just for you to tell me mundane details about your day.”

Quinn plucks absently at her tank top. “Well, I worked today. A little boy threw up on me, actually. At the studio. Apparently, there’s some kind of virus going around.” 

“That’s absolutely disgusting.” Rachel can’t help laughing, though. “Sorry. I know from personal experience that it isn’t funny.”

“I didn’t mean to trigger your post traumatic stress.” Quinn is laughing too. “It was pretty gross.” Rachel’s laughter sounds so much better than her fear, though, and for the moment Quinn is satisfied. “I even got to take a few shots today. Extras, just for practice. But still. Good experience.” 

“Good,” Rachel agrees. “Do you think they’ll let you do that more? I think they should.”

“I really have no idea.” Quinn bites her lip. “And thank you. I’m… still waiting to hear about the competition.”

“I hope you’re still waiting, because you’re supposed to tell me as soon as you know.” Rachel readjusts her pillow and tucks the phone under her ear. “Is Friday night okay? For dinner?”

Quinn’s smile is one of those smiles so big that it actually hurts her cheeks. “You’ll be my first phone call, Rach. And Friday is fine. Um, what time should I come? What should I bring? What are you wearing?” She rolls her eyes. “Clearly, I’m a little nervous.”

Rachel laughs, again. “Six, you don’t have to bring anything but my dads will appreciate any gesture you choose to make, it’s a casual dress occasion, and I haven’t yet finalized my wardrobe for that evening.”

“Finalized your wardrobe…” Quinn finds herself becoming increasingly more charmed by the way that Rachel talks. It’s funny how something that you once found annoying is now one of the most appealing things you can think of. “You’re such a nerd.” She tugs at the hem of her tank top. “Okay. So I’m actually really nervous. But please don’t think that I don’t want to.” 

“There’s no need to be nervous, Quinn. It’s just dinner,” Rachel reassures her. “And dessert. And possibly a game of charades.”

“Rachel. It’s dinner with your fathers. Of course I’m going to be nervous. Puck said that they put Finn through the ringer.” Quinn realizes that perhaps likening herself to Finn in this case might not be the best idea, but she’s committed to it now. “I want them to like me.”

Rachel pulls the covers away from her face. “I’m confident that you’ll be able to handle yourself with them.” It doesn’t escape her that Quinn’s expecting the same treatment as Finn once received and it makes her smile. Although, she hasn’t spoken to her fathers about the less platonic aspect of their relationship, so there isn’t a reason for them to pry too deeply.

“Of course I’ll be able to handle myself. That’s not the point.” She wants to say that she isn’t Finn, that she was raised to attend parties and have manners and that a dinner party with her friends parents is no big deal. She wants to say that, but she doesn’t because… it is a big deal. Her heart is pounding a little harder, even now. She doesn’t say it because it might start a conversation about what makes friends and what makes… more than that, and that is a conversation she isn’t interested in having. 

Quinn rolls over onto her side and tucks her legs up. “I’m sorry,” she says in her softest voice. “About your dream. I wish…” This is where she needs another breath, a deep one, because she’s going to say something she’s not sure she wants to. “I wish I could hold you right now.”

“I wish you could, too. I always feel safer when you do that,” Rachel admits, though she’s certain Quinn already knows that. It’s quiet for a moment, then she backtracks. “If you want, I can give my dads a preferred list of topics.”

Quinn laughs. “Please don’t do that. It’s going to be fine. I mean, I’ve seen them at competitions before, and it’s not like they know…” Quinn’s laugh is cut short and she pushes herself up on one arm. “Oh my god, Rachel. Do they know?” 

“No, baby, they don’t know.” It’s only after Rachel says it that she realizes what she’s called Quinn. It’s first time she’s used the term outside of… ‘bedroom’ activities and she isn’t sure if it’s acceptable, but she’s tired and she really doesn’t have the energy to worry about whether or not Quinn will be uncomfortable with it in regular conversation.

Quinn’s gasp is audible. She’s still propped up on her elbow, and she stays that way, frozen, with her mouth open for a long enough time that she thinks she should say something so that Rachel doesn’t think she hung up. Hearing that term come from Rachel, about her, is just… She likes it. A lot. 

Slowly, she sinks back down until her head hits the pillow. “Rachel, that’s…” How do you tell someone that a single word they have spoken makes you feel like there’s sunlight inside of you? How do you say that it’s the only word you want to hear forever? The answer is, if you’re Quinn Fabray, you don’t. “Good,” she finishes. “Fine. Then it will be fine.”

“That’s what I already said.” Rachel’s getting sleepy, again. “What time do you get off tomorrow? Work, I mean.”

“Four,” Quinn says, smiling. Rachel yawns, and Quinn murmurs, “You’re not used to being up this late. Will you be able to sleep in tomorrow?”

Rachel nods, even though the gesture isn’t visible to Quinn. “I think so. Though, my body doesn’t usually let me sleep past seven-thirty. That’s still an hour later than usual, so I should be okay. And I can always take a nap because my only plans before four are to do more packing.”

“Do you need any help? Packing?”

“If you come over to help, I don’t know how much will actually get done. But… yeah, I’d like that.”

“Rachel Berry, what exactly are you suggesting?” Quinn asks playfully.

“I’m suggesting,” Rachel stifles another yawn. “That you haven’t yet been trained to follow my packing procedures. And that I find myself easily distracted when I’m with you.”

This time, Quinn laughs out loud. “I haven’t yet been trained? My god, Rachel, I’m not a dog. And maybe I like it when you’re distracted,” she adds the last part as an afterthought.

“It’s a very specific protocol!” The covers are suddenly too warm, so Rachel kicks them off. “So, I can expect you to come over between four-thirty and five for a proper distraction?”

Quinn clears her throat. “You want me to give you ‘a proper distraction?’”

“I suppose ‘improper’ is more appropriate. But yes.”

It’s becoming more and more difficult for Quinn to get control in situations like these, when Rachel has no reservations about saying what she means. “I’ll see what I can do.” Quinn drops the register in her voice on purpose. “I’ve been pretty successful with improper distractions in the past.”

Rachel catches herself in a yawn, again, and she’s disappointed because with the way Quinn’s talking, she wants to stay awake. “It’s not fair for you to use your sexy voice when I’m this tired.”

“I have a sexy voice?”

“Mmhmm.” Rachel closes her eyes. “Or, I guess sexier than usual. I know you know you use it.”

“Think you’re so smart,” Quinn murmurs. “It sounds like you’ve settled down again. Do you want me to stay on with you until you fall asleep?”

“The smartest,” Rachel mumbles. “I think I’m close to falling asleep, anyway. And you have to work in the morning, so… I’m fine.” She softly sighs and peeks at the clock. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Berrylicious. Call me if you have another one, okay? I want you to. I know it doesn’t take it away, but I feel like I’m doing something for you. I know I disappeared tonight, but I’m here, okay? I just— I’m always here.” Quinn lays in the dark and waits, unwilling to hang up before Rachel. Just in case. 

“Goodnight, Q. See you tomorrow.” Rachel pulls the phone away from her ear and ends the call. The nightmare has faded and she feels better, the way she always does after talking to Quinn. When she does drift back off, the dreams are much, much better.


	24. Dinner for Four

Rachel’s upstairs, putting the finishing touches on her hair when she hears the doorbell. Quinn’s right on time and Rachel had originally planned to be ready to greet her when the clock hit six, but a last minute wardrobe change cost valuable minutes and now she’s adjusting her headband and shouting, “I’ll get it!” toward the stairs.

Hiram Berry is already in the foyer as he calls back, “Too late,” then, “Great projection, sweetie!”

This is the first time they’ve formally invited Quinn into their home, even though he and Leroy have seen her at competitions and have heard plenty about her from their daughter. They’re aware that this is the same Quinn Fabray who used to drive Rachel to tears, that she was pregnant at sixteen and gave up her child for adoption to Shelby Corcoran, that she was accepted to Yale but isn’t attending, and that she’s currently working at a photography studio. There isn’t much that happens in Rachel’s life that doesn’t become known to either of the Berry men, because it’s in Rachel’s nature to talk about the things that are important to her. What they haven’t heard about is the budding non-relationship relationship that’s occurring between the two girls. But, just because Rachel doesn’t say something doesn’t mean it’s gone entirely unnoticed. 

Hiram can hear Rachel’s approach on the stairs, but his hand is already on the knob. He’s absolutely itching to speak with Quinn face-to-face. “It’s not polite to keep a guest waiting,” he says, as Rachel’s mid-way down the staircase.

“Fine,” Rachel stage-whispers. “But please stick to the provided topics.”

“Of course, of course.” He winks at her, then turns the knob.

Quinn is smoothing her hands on the front of her dress when the door opens. Mr. Berry (Hiram, she thinks) grins from ear to ear and says “Ah, you must be Quinn” in a way that makes her think that he’s been waiting a long time to say it, and in just this manner. Her own smile is beauty pageant perfect. She can do this. 

“It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Berry.” She extends a bottle of wine— she’d debated on this for nearly an hour before deciding to risk it— and when he accepts it, she folds her hands in front of her and reminds herself that she’s Quinn Fabray. “Thank you for inviting me.” 

Mr. Berry allows her inside (her stock response is “your home is lovely,” but this time she actually means it) and she feels a bubble of panic threatening to burst in her chest. Until her gaze follows the steps up and halfway, one hand on the banister, stands Rachel. The relief is instant, and she hopes it doesn’t show. “Hi,” she says.

“Hi,” Rachel replies.

The smile on her face is unavoidable but also doesn’t go unnoticed by Hiram, who then diverts his attention to the label on the bottle, for a moment. “I’ll just run this to the kitchen and make sure Leroy don’t need any help. You girls — er, ladies, should be able to expect dinner in about twenty minutes.” He smiles again at Quinn before leaving them alone.

By now, Rachel’s at the bottom of the stairs. “I like your dress. I don’t think I’ve seen you in one all summer, have I?”

Quinn watches him go out of the side of her eye. She waits until she thinks he’s out of earshot before looking down at her dress and shaking her head. “I actually kind of miss dressing up. You look…” This is awkward because Quinn doesn’t know how to behave in this moment. She wants to pull Rachel into a hug or at least rub her thumb against Rachel’s bare shoulder, to touch her in some way, but they’re in Rachel’s house and her fathers are home and it’s not as if they’re dating. But Rachel is looking at her with— is it curiosity? Apprehension? Amusement? Quinn can’t tell. “You look really amazing tonight, Rach.” She’s trying to keep her voice down so that it doesn’t accidentally drift into the kitchen. 

Rachel offers a soft smile in exchange for the compliment. “We can either wait in the living room or upstairs in my room.” She feels like Quinn might be able to relax more, the further away they are from her dads. It will only be a temporary fix, because they all have to share a dinner table, but she’s sure that Quinn will easily handle that part of the evening. Rachel just wants to make sure Quinn doesn’t hyperventilate, first.

“Rachel, I am not going up to your room with your dads down here in the kitchen,” Quinn grits. “I know you said you didn’t say anything, but still. They’re intelligent men; they’re going to see it and then they’ll know that I was up there, and— no. It’s not happening.” 

“Quinn, they know you’ve been here before. And I wasn’t inviting you up for…” It’s Rachel’s turn to lower her voice, “… any monkey business.” Then it’s back to her regular speaking volume. “But if you prefer to wait in the living room, that’s absolutely fine.” She breezes past Quinn, but not without letting her hand graze across Quinn’s lower back.

It’s all Quinn can do to keep herself from catching Rachel by the wrist and kissing the daylights out of her right there in the foyer. But one of the Misters Berry might come around the corner and see them and then she would be mortified. Instead, she just follows Rachel into the living and sits on the edge of the sofa. 

“I really hate you sometimes,” she mutters. 

“But yet, you’re dazzled by my charisma.” Rachel perches on the edge of the same sofa, but leaves a full cushion between them. It doesn’t help that this is the same piece of furniture where she and Quinn first… well, now isn’t the time to think about that. It’s a little too late, though, because Rachel feels the warmth of the blush on her cheeks.

Quinn rolls her eyes and has an excellent retort ready but when she looks at Rachel to deliver it and notices the look on Rachel’s face, it flies out of her mind. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Hmm?” Rachel’s been staring at Quinn and blinks before she speaks. “Oh. I was just thinking about how I hope you really like the vegetarian meatloaf tonight.” It’s a terrible line delivery and Rachel sigh. “No, I wasn’t. I was thinking about…” She looks at the couch, then back at Quinn. “How we generally spend our time on this sofa.”

The only way Quinn can react to Rachel’s words is by widening her eyes and stopping the squeak that’s working it’s way up her throat. She stands up like the sofa is actually burning her and smooths her dress. “Well that’s just fantastic, Rachel. Thank you so much for that. Now I have to go in there and make small talk with your dads while I’m—” Quinn clamps down like she always does. She is not talking about this right now. She wants to glare at Rachel, but she can’t. She really just feels vaguely turned on and uncomfortable, more than anything. They should have just had dinner at her house. That way, her mother could just get drunk slowly in front of Rachel and pass out after talking about how Quinn used to have such potential. It would be less painful than this.

Rachel fully understands Quinn’s reaction, but that doesn’t make her any less frustrated by it. “All right, I’m not letting you work yourself up about this,” she says, under her breath. Then it’s all presence and clear diction when she stands and calls out, “Dad, Daddy! We’ll be right back. Quinn left her phone in her car.” She wraps her hand around Quinn’s wrist and pulls her toward the front door until they’re on the front porch with the door shut behind them.

Quinn has this look on her face that’s somewhere between annoyed and confused, but ultimately leaning toward the former. Before she can say anything, Rachel quickly puts both hands on the sides of her face as she pushes herself up on her toes, and kisses Quinn. It’s fairly quick, but it isn’t without a slight linger as Rachel sighs, then pulls away. “It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. I promise.”

Quinn’s arm is around Rachel’s waist before Rachel drops down off her toes. Quinn pulls her close. “I’m sorry,” she whispers and kisses her again. “You’re just driving me crazy in that dress, and I really want your dads to like me.” She bites her lip. “Is that cheesy?” 

“Maybe. You and I have different standards, remember?” Rachel allows herself a moment to enjoy Quinn’s embrace, then pulls back. “Now, you are about to charm the socks off of my dads, because you’re beautiful and elegant and trained in proper etiquette.” She rubs her thumb over Quinn’s bottom lip, adjusting any smudged lipstick. “Ready?”

No one— no one— has ever called Quinn elegant before, and her eyes flutter the moment she hears it. It’s kind of miraculous that Rachel thinks of her that way. She wonders if Rachel has any idea how absolutely charming she herself can be. And when Rachel thumb glides over her lip, she shivers and runs her fingers delicately over Rachel’s shoulder, once, because she finally can.

“I am. Now.”

On their way back inside, their hands are linked casually together, and Quinn only lets go at the last possible minute. 

They bypass the living room and head straight into the kitchen, where Leroy is placing the last of the fresh baked rolls in the bread basket. He looks up and offers Quinn a welcoming smile. “Quinn, hello. I’m sorry I didn’t greet you with Hiram, but I was just finishing up in here. I’m pleased to finally get a chance to meet you.”

“Hi Mr. Berry,” Quinn says, her blue-ribbon smile in place once more. She can be steady as a fucking rock when she needs to be. And when Rachel isn’t pointing out all the places they’ve been… together. “Thank you for inviting me.” The table is set, and Rachel’s fathers seem to have everything under control, but Quinn still asks, “How can I help?” There has to be something she can do. 

“You can sit down,” Hiram tells her. “Rachel, would you show our guest…?” He trails off and gestures at the table and Rachel smiles at him adoringly. 

Quinn feels a pang in her chest, and she’s not sure if it’s because she’s witnessing an actual family interaction or if it’s because Rachel looks so happy. 

“Of course. Quinn?” Rachel pulls back a chair from the table. “You can sit here and I’ll take the place across from you.”

While the girls seat themselves, Hiram and Leroy bring everything out to the table, then sit at either end. “Quinn,” Leroy says, “Rachel tells us you’re something of an accomplished amateur chef.”

Rachel’s pleased with the opening topic, because it’s directly from the list she created specifically for the evening. She smiles to herself as Hiram passes the salad bowl, then she waits to hear Quinn’s reply.

“I don’t know how accomplished I am, but I really enjoy cooking,” Quinn tells him. “I’m currently working on expanding my knowledge in vegan cuisine. It’s been a challenge, but it’s also really satisfying to learn.” It doesn’t dawn on her until after Hiram beams at his daughter and Rachel beams back that she’s learning vegan cooking because of Rachel. Her cheeks grow warm, and she accepts the salad bowl and is grateful for something to occupy herself. “You’ve both been at every single one of our glee club competitions. I’m sorry that I never introduced myself before.” 

“Nonsense,” Hiram says, taking a drink of wine. “I was just telling Leroy earlier this week that we should have gotten to know you, wasn’t I Leroy?” 

They share a look, and Quinn wonders what it means. She feels as if she’s missed something, but she doesn’t know what. There is a very tangible energy at this table, in this entire house really, and Quinn can easily see where Rachel gets her enthusiasm. She wishes that she had something more interesting to talk about than “how I gave up my baby” or “that time I got accepted at Yale and decided not to go.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what you said. Which is why we wanted to have you over for dinner,” Leroy says as he places the salad on the table. “Although, with as much as Rachel’s talked about you this summer, I feel like we’ve already spent time together.”

“Daddy.”

“Oh, yes. This reminds me.” Hiram sets his glass down and leans slightly in Quinn’s direction. “How on earth did you convince her to,” his hand raises up, to emphasize what he’s about to say next, “climb any kind of rock wall, faux or otherwise?”

Quinn’s eyebrows go up. “I told her if she beat me, I would buy her a smoothie?” Quinn knows that that’s not exactly how the conversation went down but she can’t exactly tell them that she and Rachel got into a fight over whether or not a smoothie constituted a date or that she and Rachel made up afterwards in a rather spectacular way. 

Hiram looks positively delighted. “You told her you would buy her a smoothie. That’s… wonderful.” Another look exchanged between Rachel’s dads, and Quinn shifts in her seat. 

Leroy passes her a platter. “Meatloaf, Quinn?”

“Yes, thank you,” Quinn says, and helps herself.

Rachel nudges Quinn’s foot under the table. “Only she beat me, so I had to buy one for her.”

“Are you athletic, Qu—” Hiram shakes a finger as he recollects what he’s already been told in the past. “Wait, no, I know this one. You were head cheerleader for a while there, weren’t you?”

In a flash, Rachel’s gaze snaps from Quinn to her dad. This isn’t on the approved list and the last thing she needs is for anyone to ask about why Quinn stopped being head Cheerio, the first time around.

Quinn nudges Rachel back and smiles and then nods at Hiram. “I was head Cheerio. Twice, actually. Athletics come very naturally to me, yes.” She takes a bite of meatloaf and looks at Leroy. “Mr. Berry, this is delicious.” 

“Thank you, Quinn,” Leroy says. “It’s one of Rachel’s favorite dishes. Right, honey?” 

Rachel can only nod, because her mouth is full of the aforementioned dish.

“Well, as much as we’ve embraced and encouraged her career in the arts, I’m certainly pleased to know that Rachel’s still expressing an interest in new hobbies.” Hiram redirects his attention to his husband. “And she’s right, Leroy, this turned out exceptionally well.”

“She has a way of being able to adapt. She’s going to do so well in New York,” Quinn says. She’s talking to either of them, or both, and she’s totally sincere. She has a week with Rachel. Less than, and that fact seems to catch up with her right now. She can feel the tears in her eyes, a mixture of excitement for Rachel to finally have the dream she’s worked so hard for, the dream she broke it off with her high school sweetheart for, and a sadness so deep that it actually makes her physically ache. 

One week. And it’s over. 

Suddenly, Quinn can’t look at anyone. She digs at her meatloaf just to have something to focus on that’s not the pain blooming in her chest. She clears her throat, looks up, smiles. She’s fine. She’s Quinn Fabray. “I’m really proud of her,” she says. She only hopes Rachel can see how much. 

Hiram and Leroy exchange another look at Quinn’s expense, but it’s not at all negative. 

“Ah, Quinn,” Leroy says, breaking the silence. “Rachel tells us you’re a photographer.” 

Quinn blushes. “I’m not really— It’s more of a hobby. I work as a personal assistant at Shutter Bugs downtown.”

“Every artist has to start somewhere,” Hiram says. “Michelangelo didn’t just begin with the Sistine Chapel or David. He used to assist with family portraits and sculpt pocket-sized figurines of school children.”

“I think you fell asleep watching the History Channel, again,” Leroy interjects, “because that doesn’t sound entirely accurate.”

Rachel laughs behind her water glass, “Quinn has a fantastic eye. And she’s in a contest. She might go to Paris.” She slips her shoe off her foot so she can poke at Quinn’s ankle with her toe.

When she feels Rachel’s bare foot on her ankle, Quinn arches an eyebrow slightly, as if to say ‘really, Rachel?’ Quinn can play this game. She moves her foot so that the toe of her sandal skims up the sole of Rachel’s foot before Rachel withdraws. “Paris is a long way off,” is what she says. “I have to win statewide first and make it to Chicago. It’s kind of a long shot.” 

The skin of her foot touches Rachel’s briefly, and she drops her eyes before lifting them back up. God, the only thing Rachel does anymore is make her blush. 

Rachel avoids eye contact and ends up grinning at her dinner roll.

“Looks like the fresh baked bread is as big of a hit as is hoped,” Leroy says, glancing from Rachel to Hiram.

“Yes, uh, Leroy? Didn’t you say that we had some sparkling cider for Rachel’s going away celebration? I think tonight is as good as any other night to toast our little girl’s success.” Hiram pushes himself up from the table. “I’ll help you,” he says. Leroy seems to be one step ahead of him, and together they go into the kitchen, leaving Quinn and Rachel at the table. 

Once they’re in the kitchen, Hiram lowers his voice. “We’re on the same page here, aren’t we?”

“What, that our previously boy-crazy daughter is smitten with the former head cheerleader turned photographer in there?” Leroy asks, risking a peek out into the dining room. “We’ve known that.”

“Yes, but,” Hiram remembers that they’re supposed to be getting cider, so he opens the refrigerator and finds the bottle, “It’s clearly mutual.” He rests the bottle on the kitchen island while Leroy rummages in the cupboard for the correct glassware. “Champagne flutes should be next to the white wine glasses. And maybe we’re misreading it. Maybe they’re… What was Emily Dickinson’s thing?”

“Being a lesbian?” Leroy asks, finally producing the necessary glasses and placing them next to the bottle.

“Romantic friendship.”

“Do romantic friendships include games of footsie at the dinner table?”

Hiram leans back just enough to look through the door frame, but he can’t see under the table from this angle. “I would just prefer not to have a repeat of the seventh grade incident.”

“It wasn’t an incident. We were just trying to be supportive and maybe that was her way of preparing us for this.”

“So, five years ago, our daughter claiming Maureen from RENT as her favorite character in contemporary musical theatre was her way of preparing us for her romantic interest in a classically gorgeous blonde with outstanding bone structure?” Hiram’s about to lean again for another look, but Leroy pulls him back.

“Not her natural color, but I would not object to having grandkids with those cheekbones,” Leroy admits, then corrects himself. “Listen to us, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Why don’t we just wait for her to tell us?”

“Yes. We should wait and trust her to tell us when she’s ready.” Hiram nods. “We should invite Quinn to join us on our trip to New York.”

“Did you have a mid-afternoon latte?”

“Not relevant. My animation is due to natural excitement, not caffeine. Let’s go.” Hiram turns to exit the kitchen, but Leroy catches his arm. “Hmm?”

Leroy has the glasses in his hands, but the bottle of sparking cider still sits on the counter. “Since you came in here to get that, you might want to return with it.”

“Very good, yes.”

By the time the Berry men return to the table, Rachel isn’t the only one with her shoes off, and Quinn’s blush is deeper than ever. She accepts the glass of cider from Hiram and says, “Thank you, Mr. Berry.” 

Leroy raises his glass. “To our little star. May she see all of her dreams come true.” 

“Here, here,” Hiram says. “To our baby girl.” It’s easy to see where Rachel gets her enthusiasm for life. There’s an almost tangible energy, between the two of them, and it’s no wonder she’s so driven.

Quinn thinks that Rachel looks beautiful, smiling and tucking her hair behind her ear before saying, “Daddy,” and sipping from her glass. She clearly likes the attention, but it doesn’t rub Quinn the wrong way like it used to. She used to think it was arrogant. But now… it’s confident and natural and it’s part of what makes Rachel, well, Rachel. Quinn realizes she’s been staring and glances apologetically at Leroy, who seems to have caught her. 

She blushes and murmurs, “To Rachel,” before sipping her own cider.

“And to Dad and Daddy for making this fantastic dinner,” Rachel adds.

“Thank you, sweetie,” Leroy says, then rests his glass on the table. “You know, your father and I were just talking in the kitchen and we were—”

“—thinking,” Hiram interrupts and ignores the look Leroy sends his way, “we were thinking that we should extend an invitation to Ms. Fabray here to join us on our road trip to New York. What do you think?”

“You want me to come with you?” Quinn asks. Shocked isn’t the word, but it’s close. She’s only just meeting them.

She isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Drive with the Berrys from Lima to New York City? In that close a proximity with Rachel for that long of a time yet unable to actually hold her, touch her, talk to her like they’re— what, Quinn? Like they’re what? On the other hand, she might actually get to see Rachel’s dorm, and she loved New York the last time she was there during Nationals her senior year. She might get to kiss Rachel on Broadway this time. She might—

She bites her lip, looks at Rachel, who doesn’t seem to have any doubts at all about whether she wants Quinn to go with them. 

“I’ll have to see if I can get the time off from work,” Quinn says slowly. “But I would like that.”

“Hiram, perhaps we should ask Rachel what she—”

“—Daddy, it’s fine. I’d love it if Quinn accompanied us.” Rachel fixes her gaze back on Quinn. “You can bring your camera and chronicle the entire journey.”

“From the bean town to the Big Apple,” Hiram suggests.

“Beantown is Boston,” corrects Leroy.

Hiram shakes his head as he sips his wine. “You couldn’t see it, but it was all lower case. Not Beantown, proper.”

Rachel is busy ignoring the banter between her fathers and is, instead, smiling at Quinn. This will be a great chance to re-emphasize the allure of the city, to show her the opportunities that are available. She wants Quinn to work out her on future on her own terms, but this will just be like showing her a living brochure about the greatest city in the world.

“It’ll be a lot easier for us to see some of the things we wanted to during Nationals because it’ll just be the two of us and not an entire glee club. Oh! And you can meet my roommate.” Rachel glances to her dads, to pull them back into her conversation. “I’ve been emailing her the last couple of days. She’s seems quite nice. Her name is Charity.”

“You already know your roommate?” Quinn’s brow furrows. They’ve been emailing for a couple of days. There’s an unfamiliar feeling in the pit of Quinn’s stomach. Why wouldn’t Rachel have said something before now? She tries to shrug it off. 

Her discomfort doesn’t go unnoticed, and Hiram shoots Leroy a look as if to say, “Did you see that? I told you so.” 

“I wouldn’t say I know her,” Rachel says. “We’ve just exchanged a couple preliminary emails about what to bring for the room and basic introductory information. I… didn’t mention that?” She knows she at least posted on her blog about her housing letter, but she honestly can’t recall if she mentioned emailing Charity to Quinn, because all week, every time they’ve talked on the phone in the evenings, the conversation has usually kept some distance from Rachel’s upcoming departure for New York.

“No,” Quinn says. “You didn’t.” She takes a sip of cider and makes up her mind not to make it into a big deal. When it’s all said and done, it’s not like Rachel is obligated to tell Quinn anything. Still. It would have been nice to know. 

“Anyway,” Hiram interrupts the silence, “since we’d like you to come with us, and you’d like to come with us, it’s settled. We’ll assume you can get the time off unless we hear otherwise, and we’ll all take Rachel to New York.” He takes another bite and Leroy tries to hide his smile. 

“That also means we have to reassign the allotted playlist time,” Rachel considers. At Quinn’s peaked eyebrow, rests her fork and continues. “Every Berry family road trip has equally divided playlist time, based on the overall expected average amount of hours spent in the car. Lima to New York is about ten and a half hours of drive time, which is currently broken into thirds. An additional person, that’s you, Quinn, would call for a readjustme—”

“Rachel, sweetheart, that won’t be necessary,” Leroy interrupts.

“But all passengers must have appropriate musical representation!”

Leroy holds in a chuckle and looks from Rachel to Quinn. “Quinn, I’ll gladly turn over my time to you, as long as you include a little Billy Joel and something from The Music Man.”

“Um, it’s really not necessary to upset the entire balance of things. I can just listen to whatever you’re playing,” Quinn mumbles. Her face is warm. She’s on the spot, after all, with all three Berrys looking at her expectantly, and her feelings about Rachel leaving all but on display. “You really don’t have to go to any trouble.” 

She would be backing out by now, except that she feels an odd compulsion to meet Rachel’s roommate. 

“Well. That was a fabulous meal, Leroy,” Hiram drops his linen napkin on the table. “Is there dessert?” 

Leroy nods. “I’m fairly sure if you check the oven, there’s a Very Berry Berry Crumble keeping warm. And there’s ice cream in the freezer.”

As Hiram rises from the table, Rachel also pushes back her chair. “Quinn, may I take your plate?” she asks, as she collects the dishes into a neat stack and carries them into the kitchen.

Once his husband and daughter have cleared the room, Leroy leans toward Quinn. “I apologize for springing that on you so suddenly. But we really would love to have you along. Rachel’s had quite the summer with you, from what she’s told us, and I think it would mean a lot to her for you to be part of the transition.”

Quinn can’t help it. Her mouth drops open. She knows she must look idiotic— Finn-like, even— but she can’t seem to get a grip. “What she’s told you?” she finally manages. 

“Hiram and I aren’t completely in the dark, Quinn. We’re aware of the history you two have had, the same way knew about Finn Hudson and his involvement in some less than honorable activities before he joined the glee club. If Rachel experienced anything in her day-to-day business at that school, you can guarantee we heard about it at home.” Leroy pauses, because he isn’t sure how to read the look on Quinn’s face. “I’m not bringing any of this up to embarrass you, I just want you to know that we’re very happy that you and Rachel have reached a point where you can actually be as close as you’ve become this summer. Good friends are hard to find, especially for someone as focused on her impending career as our daughter.”

There’s panic on the horizon. Quinn’s eyes are brimming with tears and her chest feels tight enough that she absently touches her collarbone. “I’m not… the same girl I used to be,” she says thickly. “I just want—” It’s impossible. She can’t. She can’t do this. She’s sitting here with Rachel’s father, for god’s sake. Talking about her relationship with his daughter. She tries again. “I just want her to be happy. That’s all.”

She wipes angrily at her eye with the back of a steady hand. She is Quinn Fabray, after all. She just needs a minute. 

Leroy suddenly feels terrible for bringing all of this up the way he just did. “I didn’t intend to suggest that we were concerned about your past. If Rachel considers you to be worthy of her time and energy, then you certainly are. And her happiness is all any of us want, so I think you’ll get along with Hiram and I, just fine.” He turns his head toward the kitchen doorway. “Even if he is terrible at eavesdropping.”

There’s a soft thump and some bustle in the kitchen, and Quinn smiles through her tears. “Thank you, Mr. Berry,” she says. She still feels the panic, but it’s clear that he’s not trying to make her uncomfortable, and she pushes it down. “I would love to come with you to New York.”

Rachel rounds the corner with a dish of dessert in each hand, followed by Hiram as he carries the same.

“Don’t worry, Quinn,” Hiram says, “We set you up with the real dairy stuff. You’ve been subjected to enough this evening without having to endure whatever it is that Rachel thinks is ice cream.”

Although Rachel pouts at the statement, she can hardly remain upset while confronted with one of her favorite desserts. She’s also overheard a little of what Quinn and her father were discussing and, while she isn’t really sure what Leroy was getting at, she’s pleased to know they agree on something, especially considering that something is her happiness.

There’s been enough focus on Quinn, but she is kind of curious. “You know, I’ve never tried vegan ice cream before…” she says. Rachel first beams at her and then turns a triumphant look to her dad. She offers her ice cream to Quinn, who tries a bite. 

Three different pairs of Berry eyes watch her expectantly until she swallows. 

“Oh my god,” Quinn laughs. “That’s absolutely the worst thing I have ever tried in my life.” 

Despite Rachel’s urge for some form of retaliation against Quinn for the comment about the ice cream, she doesn’t even try to subject Quinn to a round of Berry family charades. Instead, after dessert, she volunteers herself and her guest for kitchen clean up under the circumstance that her fathers go upstairs to watch their regular Friday night DVR programming.

Once she hears both sets of footsteps ascend the stairs and both girls are left alone in the kitchen, Rachel reaches for Quinn’s hand. “I had no idea about the New York invitation. I would have warned you.”

“It’s okay, Rach. I really…” Quinn lets Rachel hold her hand, but she doesn’t move to pull her closer, even though she’d like to. “I really like your dads. And I want to come with you to New York. To NYADA, I mean.” She blushes. “To drop you off.”

“I really like the idea of having…” Rachel wants to say that she’s glad to have the extra time with Quinn, but instead she says, “… a chance to spend a little time in the city with you. My dads are great, but…” She traces her thumb back and forth over the back of Quinn’s hand. “I think we’ll have a really good time.”

Quinn can only take so much, and Rachel’s words, what she’s doing with her thumb, plus the look on her face make Quinn tug on her hand. Rachel lets Quinn pull her into her body until Quinn’s arms are around her waist. 

“You think we will?” 

Rachel nods. “I do.” She relaxes against Quinn. There’s a week left before this road trip, a week of Lima and summer, a week of Quinn. Plus a few more days. And, it’s not like Quinn is gone for good, they’ll just have some distance between them. And maybe they won’t be… whatever they are right now. Or…

She wants to ask why they can’t just try it, why they can’t just date because they obviously care about each other. Quinn just sat through dinner with Rachel’s dads, she just accepted an invitation to drive six hundred miles with the three of them. But Rachel knows what the answer will be, something about how they “just can’t.”

So, instead of asking Quinn anything, she says, “Just so you know, you have until next Friday afternoon to compile a playlist with a run-time of three hours and thirty minutes.”

Quinn laughs. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

Every time she’s near Rachel, she somehow finds a way to touch Rachel’s hair. This is no exception, and Quinn twirls a strand of brown in her fingers.

Suddenly she’s very serious. “Would it be cheesy for me to say that I’m going to miss you?”

“You seem awfully concerned about what’s cheesy, lately.” Rachel tightens her arms around Quinn. “And no, it wouldn’t. Because I’m going to miss you, too.” As much as she enjoys being held by Quinn, she doesn’t want the whole week to be talk of missing each other. “I’m not leaving, yet, though.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. So… what are we doing tonight?”

On the back of the Approved Conversation Topics list that Rachel circulated earlier that day (and that is still stuck to the refrigerator with a Wicked magnet), is a column of preferred after-dinner activities that were intended to make Quinn feel comfortable in the Berry home. Rachel pushing Quinn back against the counter and kissing her until she’s gasping for air wasn’t among the listed suggestions.

Quinn’s gasped, “Rachel, your dads,” would hold a lot more water if she weren’t grasping desperately at Rachel’s waist.

“They’re all the way upstairs,” Rachel mumbles. her hand slips behind Quinn’s head and pulls her back in. There’s a window of maybe a minute before she thinks she hears the floorboards overhead squeak and she breaks the kiss. “Maybe, um…” Her eyes linger on Quinn’s lips. “Maybe we should finish the dishes.”

Quinn doesn’t move her hands from Rachel’s waist. She lowers her voice intentionally, just to see how Rachel will react.

“Maybe we should.”

“Maybe…” Rachel whimpers. That voice gives Quinn a seriously unfair advantage, because it makes Rachel want to do things that don’t include washing the dishes. She doesn’t move toward the sink. Instead, she’s back to pressing herself into Quinn, tugging at her hair, and kissing her, again.

“Rach…” Quinn tries her best to get a handle on the situation. “When you do that to my hair… I don’t know if I can stop.” She whispers the last part to make sure she isn’t overheard. “I really wish we were camping tonight.”

Sometimes, Rachel wishes she were more carefree, that she wasn’t concerned with things like decorum and tact, because then she could just pull harder on the blonde hair that’s wrapped around her fingers and not worry about how it might cause Quinn to take her, right there, in the family kitchen.

She does care, though, so her fingers loosen their grip and her hand slips down to rest on Quinn’s shoulder. “Camping was good. Though, I… think I prefer the amenities of the great indoors. As long as you’re included.”

Rachel’s words melt her from the inside, out, and she presses her lips to Rachel’s ear. “I’ll definitely be included if you pull on my hair like that again.”

She knows that they’re too close right now, and she can only hope that Rachel has the strength to pull away before she puts them in a compromising position.

“Quinn,” Rachel says, breathless as she reluctantly makes the effort to step backward. She reaches for the island to stable herself, then grabs a dishtowel and tosses it at Quinn. “We’re supposed to be cleaning up.”

Quinn licks at kiss-swollen lips. Her look is nothing short of incredulous. “You pushed me against the counter.”

“It was rash and impulsive of me,” Rachel admits. “And…” She turns on the sink so she can rinse the dishes before placing them in the dishwasher. “I’m hoping you’ll let me change the subject so I can suggest that maybe you take me to play paintball this weekend, but only if you and I can be on the same team. I don’t like the idea of shooting at you.”

“And here I thought you wouldn’t go paint balling with me because you were sure I couldn’t handle losing.” Quinn grins. “How about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow would be perfect. Especially because I may have already called and booked us a reservation. Did you know they take reservations at the paintball range? I thought they’d think I was being absurd, but…” Rachel places the last plate in the dishwasher and grabs the towel from Quinn to dry her hands.

“So, if you made reservations, technically you’re taking me paintballing,” Quinn points out. “I think you’ll have fun.”

Quinn arranges the leftovers in the refrigerator. “What else needs to be done?”

“That’s it for clean-up. Though, since I’m spending tomorrow with you, I have a few things I should do tonight, including an itinerary adjustment.” Rachel drapes the towel over the edge of the sink and watches Quinn as she finishes putting things away. “You don’t have to go anywhere, though. I can do that while we watch a movie or something.” 

That sounds safe and family friendly. Possibly. If it doesn’t go the same way their movie watching experiences tend to go.

“I’ll stay. But it might be best if we don’t sit together. Just in case,” Quinn mumbles. At this point, she just wants to spend as much time with Rachel as possible before she can’t anymore.

“You really think that we’re that incapable of controlling ours—” Rachel realizes what she’s saying. “Yes, you’re right. Opposite ends of the couch.”

The movie is fine— Quinn sits on the opposite side of the sofa as Rachel and tries not to think about how nice it would be to have her arm around her. It’s for the best, really. It’s hard enough keeping her hands to herself in a big house; being alone with Rachel in the backseat of a car all the way to New York might actually kill her. 

When it’s over, Quinn bids goodnight to the Berry men and thanks them for a wonderful evening. They both smile when Leroy says, “Any time,” and when he kisses her on the cheek, Quinn nearly runs to her car. She would, anyway, if it weren’t for Rachel’s hand holding tightly to hers. 

They stand in the driveway for a full minute before either of them speak. 

“I had a really good time tonight, Rachel,” Quinn says. “You’re dads are—” The first functional family she’s ever really seen? Nicer to her than she deserves? Beyond amazing and it’s easy to see why Rachel shines so brightly? “They’re really great.” She never could say what she really wants to say.

“They are.” Rachel leans forward and turns enough to bump her shoulder into Quinn’s arm. “So are you. I told you that it would be fine and that they’d love you,” she reaches up to brush Quinn’s bangs aside. “When we were in the kitchen getting dessert, Dad said you remind him of a classic movie star. So, I think you nailed it.”

Quinn nudges back. “A classic movie star? That could mean anything. Lon Chaney Jr.,” Quinn says, but her smile betrays her. Rachel’s hand is still near her face and she leans into it. “I’ll see you tomorrow for paintball?”

There’s a slow nod from Rachel. “Pick me up at twelve-thirty? And what should I wear? Other than Kevlar and a helmet.” 

“They have helmets there, Rachel,” Quinn tells her. “Wear jeans and a long sleeved shirt. Something breathable so you don’t get too hot.” There’s a moment when neither of them speak at all because it’s one of those moments that doesn’t need any words. And then Quinn licks her lips and says, “Kiss me goodnight?”

“You really have to ask?” Rachel tips her head up and presses her lips to Quinn’s, trying to control herself more than she did earlier, in the kitchen. Their summer, especially recently, has been full of just-right moments like this, and they’re exactly what Rachel wants to remember when she’s in New York.

This is perfect for Quinn, just like this, with Rachel’s hands snaking up around her neck and Quinn’s looping easily around Rachel’s back. It’s a simple kiss, sweet and relatively chaste, but not lacking in passion or emotion. It’s getting harder for Quinn to keep her walls up, ever since that night in the tent. She pulls Rachel tighter and kisses her a little more deeply. 

When they break apart, Quinn rests her forehead against Rachel’s. “I’ll text you when I get home.” She doesn’t mean to whisper, but it’s such a still moment that she doesn’t want to shatter it. Another sweet kiss, just a few seconds, and Quinn is getting into her car. “Goodnight Rachel.”

“Goodnight, Quinn.” Rachel plans to wait until Quinn pulls away, but when it’s apparent that Quinn isn’t going anywhere until she’s safely inside, so she waves one last time and heads back into the house.

Leroy and Hiram sit in the living room as they watch the end of whatever late-night host’s program they’re favoring this week. She calls out goodnight to them before she heads upstairs and doesn’t hear Leroy tell Hiram to “quit meddling and pass the popcorn.”


	25. Post Paintball Propositions

Rachel’s sore and likely bruised, but also happy. For an activity that she’s avoided until today, she’s spent the better part of her afternoon running on an adrenaline high that was fueled by the fact that she’s apparently a good shot. Finn used to tease her bad aim, but that seems to only apply to throwing things by hand. 

She tries to sit still on the drive home, making an effort to keep her paint splattered self on the towels that Quinn had the foresight to spread over the seats of her car. “That was quite fun. I had no idea I was such an excellent markswoman.” This may be at least the third time she’s referred to herself as such since they left the paintball course.

It’s kind of endearing that Rachel is so obviously pleased with how well she did today. Quinn even did her very best to distract her (they were alone in the woods, after all) and Rachel just tuned her out. Once, there may have been an exasperated, “Quinn, I am trying to excel at this sport. Hands off, please,” but other than that, Rachel had been completely focused.

Quinn is still surprised by how quickly Rachel took to her paintball gun. She’d only showed Rachel how to aim once, and then they had about five minutes of target practice. In the first round, Rachel downed three people on the other team in the first minute. Of course, she’d then been pelted by approximately five people at once, since she was standing in plain view, but the fact remains that she’s a very good shot, even if her camouflage is less than stellar.

Quinn’s sidelong glance is obviously charmed, and she makes no effort to disguise it. “I’m glad you had fun.”

“I really did.” Rachel twists her body to smile at Quinn, but she winces at the ache from her midsection. “Though, not without a price. Is there a specific remedy for this, or just a lengthy soak with effervescing bath salts?”

The charm Quinn feels dissolves into incredulity. Rachel in a bathtub. Quinn thinks that she has to do these things on purpose, but the truth of it is, Rachel is probably still just thinking about sniping people in the woods. She doesn’t seem to notice, at any rate. Well. Rachel Berry isn’t the only one who can play this game.

Quinn affects indifference. “You could do that. Or I could just rub your muscles down for you. I’m very good at it.” She glances at Rachel. “Cheerios.”

Rachel’s mouth is open and she’s trying to reply, but all she can do is think about Quinn’s hands on her. Even in the professional manner that’s just been suggested, it leaves her in a bit of a haze.

“You’d do that for me?”

Quinn bites down on her grin. She knows that she’s got Rachel now, but if there’s one thing she can do, it’s maintain a facade. And, after Rachel wouldn’t even let her touch her in the woods, she’s committed to this.

She allows Rachel a shrug. “Sure. I mean, it feels amazing, especially after you’ve stretched your muscles to the limit.” It’s time to go in for the kill. “That’s what friends are for, right? To help each other out?” She’s not even close to breaking.

“Right. Yes. Helping…” Rachel shifts, again, and it’s followed by another dull ache from her ribcage.

She opts for a subject change so they can at least get back to her house before she tries to climb into Quinn’s lap and ends up causing an accident or something. “I can’t believe those other players ganged up on me like that! That’s not quite fair. I realize I was clearly visible, but I thought we’d be taking turns.”

Quinn laughs. “Taking turns like they did during the Revolutionary War? Stand in a row and just shoot at one another, hope you don’t die? Sometimes you’re completely ridiculous.”

Quinn hasn’t been this happy in a long time. Maybe ever.

“Well, that hardly seems fair to the novice player. For the sake of our team, we’re lucky I adapt quickly to new situations.” When Quinn pulls the car up to the house, Rachel notices the lack of the hybrid SUV in the driveway. “Dads went to Toledo to scout out a gay men’s chorus. They’re thinking of joining one, but they can be incredibly particular.” She ignores the raised eyebrow she receives in response that suggests, ‘No, really? Your dads?’ “So, if you’d like to wash off that paint in the guest shower, the coast is clear.”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “You’re acting like I’m covered in paint. I got hit twice all afternoon.” Granted, one of those times was in the face and the paint sprayed through the slats on her mask and covered her face and hair, so it’s a pretty messy situation. But still. There’s no need to act like Quinn can’t hold her own. She grabs her bag from the backseat, follows Rachel inside and kicks her shoes off at the door.

“Is it up here?” Rachel nods and tells her it’s the first door on the left. “I’ll just be a few minutes,” Quinn says and heads upstairs.

While Quinn washes up, Rachel takes her own shower and the only real motivation to leave the pressure of the hot water is the fact the promise of Quinn’s hands on her sore muscles. Even if she didn’t feel like she’d just finished one of Mike and Brittany’s emergency dance camps, the idea of Quinn touching her holds plenty of appeal.

Quinn is still in the bathroom, dressed, and toweling off her hair. One of the things she’ll never miss is taking care of it when it was long. She’s been finished for a while, but she doesn’t want to be in Rachel’s bedroom alone. It just seems like an invasion of privacy— though Rachel probably wouldn’t think so, it definitely would be to Quinn— so she waits it out until she hears Rachel’s door open and close softly.

Within seconds, she’s across the hall and tapping gently on Rachel’s door. When Rachel pulls it open, Quinn grins sheepishly at her. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Rachel says, smiling back as she runs a comb through her towel dried hair.

She’s put on a pair of red shorts and a black tank top for the time being, though she has no idea what Quinn’s proposed rub-down will entail. The comb snags on a tangle and she wrinkles her nose in frustration. “I still haven’t found a new conditioner I like.”

Quinn trails a finger over a spot on Rachel’s shoulder that’s already turning dark. “You’re bruising,” she murmurs. She tries to stay focused on the bruise, but she’s distracted by Rachel’s eyes. How can someone look so innocent and wholesome, yet be so completely intense? “How do you feel?”

“Like people have been shooting at me all afternoon.” Rachel works out the snarl and pulls her hair to one side for a final comb-through. “Tired, but the good kind. And sore. I’m less of a fan of that.” She looks up at Quinn. “How about you?”

“I feel pretty good, actually. Are you muscle sore or bruise sore? I don’t want to hurt you worse,” Quinn tells her. Rachel’s hair feels just as good wet as it does dry.

“The bruises are tender, but I think I ache from all the crouching and gun-toting, more than anything.” Rachel’s finally content with her hair and she sets the comb on her dresser before she turns back around to face Quinn. “So, where do you want me?”

Quinn quirks an eyebrow. She seriously doubts that Rachel realizes how she sounds. Then again, maybe she’s doing it on purpose. Quinn can play along. “Maybe lay down on your bed,” she says and then she leans in close. “Face down?” It’s punctuated with a single finger gliding down a brown shoulder.

Rachel matches Quinn’s look the best she can. “All right.” Before she moves to the bed, she shuts her bedroom door. Even with her dads an hour and a half away, it feels like a wise decision. “Is what I have on going to be okay for what you need to do?” She manages to leave ‘to me’ off the end of the question.

“As long as you’re comfortable.” Quinn watches as Rachel lays herself down and arranges herself before sitting on the edge of the bed. “We’ll start out soft, okay? And go from there.”

Without preamble, Quinn lays her hands on Rachel’s back. She really would prefer not to have to deal with the fabric being in the way, but she also doesn’t want Rachel to think she’s trying to take advantage of her. She can work like this, if it’s necessary.

She smooths her hands out towards Rachel’s shoulders and begins kneading gently. “Is this okay? It doesn’t hurt?”

“Nuh uh, ‘s fine,” Rachel mumbles against her comforter. Her eyes are closed and she’s content to just lie there and let Quinn do whatever she wants if this is any indication of what’s going to be happening for an extended period of time. “You can go harder than that.”

Quinn applies more pressure, works on Rachel’s shoulders for a while and then starts moving slowly down her back, inch by inch. She noticed in the car that Rachel was twisting and trying to stretch her sides, so Quinn says softly, “I know you’re ticklish, but I’m not trying to tickle you. Just trust me, okay, and lie still?”

She waits for Rachel to adjust and then moves her hands just so, so that they’re rubbing slowly but firmly over Rachel’s ribs.

Rachel instinctively twitches at the contact. “And now I’m thinking about it being ticklish because you brought it up.” She takes a breath and calms down as much as she can. “Okay. I’m…” But the spot Quinn keeps touching is now hyper-sensitive and it makes Rachel squirm as she giggles. “I’m trying.”

“Oh my god. I told you not to squirm.” Quinn rolls her eyes and climbs onto the bed so that she’s kneeling next to Rachel. Shit. Now Quinn is looking at a pair of very tan, very long legs. And those shorts… She bites her lip and shifts on her knees. Focus, Fabray.

She works on Rachel’s lower back, kneading and working her hands against the muscles there. She tugs up on the material, slides her hands underneath it. The skin is so soft, and Quinn thinks for the hundredth time this week that this is one of the last times she’s going to get to touch Rachel like this. She blinks, hard, to keep the tears back and follows Rachel’s spine up to her shoulder blades, beneath the tank top.

“I’m not doing it on purp— Oh my god,” Rachel groans as Quinn’s hands apply just the right amount of pressure on her aching muscles. “You… you should do this for money. Not right now. But later. When it’s not for me.” She doesn’t even know where the words are coming from, because it feels like her brain is disconnected from her body.

That single groan sends something like want all the way through Quinn’s body. “Rachel, you can’t make that—” She closes her eyes. She needs to get control. This is just supposed to be a massage. She should be able to control herself. She can control herself. She will. However, there is one small allowance she can make. She tugs up on Rachel’s tank top. “Take this off,” she murmurs.

Rachel pushes herself up onto an elbow so she can maneuver the shirt up over her head, because she had just gotten out of the shower when she’d dressed, she hadn’t bothered with a bra, so now she’s lying topless and face down on her bed, waiting for Quinn to touch her, again. “Do you need lotion or anything? There’s some on the dresser.”

Rachel seems perfectly at ease with her body, if the way she stripped off her tank top is any indication, and Quinn has never found anything quite so sexy in her life. She gets the lotion and kneels back on Rachel’s bed, squirting some into her hand. There is so much skin in front of her right now, and when she realizes that she can see the sides of Rachel’s breasts swelling out on either side, just under her arms, she tries to reel in her thoughts.

Now when Quinn smooths her hands up Rachel’s back, she can see the muscles twitching. She can see Rachel’s ribs contracting and expanding with breath. Her touch is more of a caress, now, and she plans on touching every inch, if she can. She rubs up and down, back and forth, squeezing occasionally. She’s barely able to restrain herself from leaning down and pressing a row of hot kisses all the way up Rachel’s spine.

For Quinn’s sake, Rachel tries to keep her non-verbal vocal responses to a minimum, but it’s incredibly difficult and she finds herself moaning a little, even with her attempted restraint. “I’m sorry, it just feels really good.”

Quinn, in general, has a way of being firm and direct while somehow being graceful and even delicate, which doesn’t seem like it should make any sense. But with everything Rachel’s experienced over the summer, she’s given up trying to make sense of anything when it comes to Quinn.

The first time she grazes Rachel’s breasts, it’s an accident. She’s just leaning forward, reaching, and when she moves outside to hit Rachel’s ribs, she dips too low. There’s an intake of breath, muffled by a pillow, and images from their night in the tent flood into Quinn’s mind, unbidden. Once they invade, they’re impossible to banish.

She shifts her weight so she can reach Rachel’s shoulders. The bed dips, and when she settles again, she’s straddling one of Rachel’s legs and can feel a certain amount of heat against her thigh, even though they’re not even touching.

The shift in position forces Rachel to open her eyes, but she still can’t see Quinn because of the angle. But she can feel where Quinn is on the bed, particularly right over her.

Rachel was never a Cheerio, but she’s fairly certain this isn’t standard locker room procedure. Or, she assumes it isn’t. And it doesn’t matter, because whatever Quinn is doing, she wants her to keep doing it.

The second time Quinn grazes the sides of Rachel’s breasts, it’s definitely on purpose. Her hands follow ribs all the way down and curve over Rachel’s lower back until Quinn’s fingers meet the waistband of Rachel’s shorts and tuck beneath it just to rub lightly for a moment before coming back up.

They’re not nearly close enough. This is supposed to be about Rachel, but Quinn needs more. She rearranges herself until she’s lying on her side with one leg still hooked over Rachel’s. She props herself on her elbow with one hand and traces over the muscles in Rachel’s back with the other.

“I think you’re cheating,” Rachel says when she feels Quinn settle next to her. She’s still facing the opposite direction and she’s too relaxed to bother moving her head. “But if you keep doing that, I won’t complain.”

“Cheating at what? You already kicked my ass today,” Quinn reminds her and presses a kiss to her shoulder.

“General massage techniques,” Rachel says as she finally turns her head to face Quinn. “Unless this is one of those happy ending massages they talk about.”

Quinn snorts and shoves at her lightly, but then when her laugh fades out, she pushes her fingers through Rachel’s bangs and asks softly, “Do you want it to be?”

“Considering that the rest of the house is empty, I think I really do,” Rachel says, honestly. Maybe it isn’t the most sexy or flirty approach, but what more does Quinn need to know, other than that Rachel wants to be with her, right now? “I’m also basically naked and you’re not.”

There’s heat flooding through Quinn everywhere, but it’s a distracted heat. A heat with a deadline. One week. She pushes it down, tries to refocus. “How many times do I have to tell you, Rachel? If you want something from me, all you have to do is take it.”

She’s still touching all over Rachel’s back, rubbing and kneading, but it isn’t hurried or rushed. She’s waiting.

“If I take it, it means I miss out on the rest of my massage.” Rachel tries to pout, but it shifts into a smirk. “I do want it, though.”

Quinn bites her lip. “Yeah? How much?”

Rachel rolls onto her side and slips her arm over Quinn’s waist. “Enough that I’m done talking about it,” she says, before pulling them closer and brushing her lips over Quinn’s.

There’s a hum of approval in Quinn’s throat, and she pulls Rachel closer. Always closer. “You’re so beautiful,” she whispers between kisses.

Rachel is a furnace. Her skin is always so hot, and everywhere it’s pressed against Quinn, it burns. She wants this. She loves how they are together, how her body feels whenever Rachel is taking what she wants. “You were so hot today with that paintball gun,” Quinn tells her and kisses her again, deeply.

“That’s just another reason why I should have let you talk me into it earlier,” Rachel mumbles. Her fingers tug at the back of Quinn’s shirt and their legs tangle even more tightly together. This doesn’t feel like the slow build they had that night in the tent. This feels like it burns hotter, like it’s more desperate. Maybe desperate isn’t quite the right word. Wanting, perhaps?

All Rachel knows is that she suddenly wants Quinn, right now, right here. “Take this off,” she says, still pulling on the shirt.

Quinn bites at Rachel’s neck. “You take it off,” she counters, bringing Rachel’s hand up to her own chest and pushing herself into Rachel’s touch. She drags fingernails over a hip and digs in.

Rachel’s at a momentary loss as to what to do, because she’s currently quite content with having a solid grasp on second, but she also really would like to get Quinn undressed. “You tricked me,” she mutters, then reluctantly (but only somewhat) puts her hand to work yanking the t-shirt upward. Before it even hits the floor, Rachel’s fingers are laced in Quinn’s hair and she grips it tightly as she moves in for another kiss.

The second Rachel’s fingers tighten in her hair, there’s a deep groan in Quinn’s throat. “You have no idea what that does to me, when you do that thing with my hair.” She pushes Rachel back and licks at her lips, nudging between Rachel’s knees with her own leg.

That just encourages Rachel to pull harder. “What, this?” she gasps, her other hand groping at Quinn’s back until her fingers find the bra clasp. She toys with it, not making a move to actually open it, yet, because she’s watching Quinn for an indication of what to do next.

“Take it off,” Quinn growls, and latches her lips to Rachel’s neck with absolutely no warning. She sucks. Hard. As long as Rachel has that grip in her hair, she feels like she’s on, and there’s no way to turn it off. Her leg is pushing up against Rachel and her hand feels like it’s everywhere on Rachel’s chest. With every tug of her hair, she’s growling against Rachel’s neck. It isn’t long before her hips are working against Rachel’s body.

“Oh—” Rachel has a slew of words on the tip of her tongue, but her ability to fully enunciate is currently disengaged. Quinn feels like she’s everywhere, all at once and it’s overwhelming, but also magnificent. It takes Rachel several seconds to remember what she was even trying to do, but then she’s back on task and Quinn’s bra straps are halfway down her arms.

Rachel doesn’t even wait for the thing to come off all the way before she slips her hand up over the same breast she was cupping before, only now it’s all skin against her palm and as she lightly grips an already peaked nipple between her fingers, she finally manages to say, “Quinn… you really… oh god…” She sucks in a breath and when it pushes back out, a rush of words comes with it, “…make me want to use a less than honorable vocabulary when you do that.”

As turned on as Quinn is, she huffs out a laugh before refocusing on Rachel’s neck. “God, I want your ‘less than honorable vocabulary.’ Let me have it, Rach.” When Rachel’s fingers grip tighter and actually pull on her nipple, mirroring what her other hand is doing to Quinn’s hair, Quinn moans and drags her fingernails up the back of Rachel’s thigh. It dimly registers that that little move might actually leave welts on Rachel’s skin, but then she has a handful of Rachel’s ass, and she isn’t registering anything.

The way Rachel responds lights her further on fire, and before she can stop herself, her hand is down the back of Rachel’s shorts and digging into bare skin. She’s still growling and sucking Rachel’s neck and chest, anywhere she can reach, and every time she grips Rachel’s ass, she rocks harder into her so that her thigh is rubbing in the best possible way. All she wants in this world is to replace her thigh with her hand and take Rachel. Nothing slow or sweet or guarded about it. She needs Rachel to come, right now, and Quinn needs to be the one to make her do it.

Before Quinn can even say exactly how it happened, Rachel’s shorts are down around her knees.

This sense of sexual urgency is something new to Rachel. It’s fresh, it’s passionate, it— “Quinn!” she realizes her shorts are suddenly coming off, which is exactly what she needs to have happen, but then she feels like she has to catch up, somehow. Her hand squeezes Quinn’s breast harder, her other arm is looped around Quinn, because she wants Quinn above her, on top of her, taking her, right now.

“I want you to…” She can think of what she wants to say, but even in the safety of her mind, it sounds dirty.

“What?” Quinn growls, trailing her hand up the inside of Rachel’s thigh. She can smell Rachel’s arousal, and between that and the dull throbbing at the base of her neck where Rachel still has a fist full of her hair, she’s one step away from being totally wild. “You want me to what, Rachel?”

Rachel’s body is purely reacting, moving against Quinn, her hips straining to find an angle that will allow her to be touched. Her brain is also apparently on autopilot, because the filter she generally has in place, the one that suggests that “using profanity is shortchanging yourself,” is currently absent.

Instead, there are exactly two words that find their way out of her mouth, even if they’re practically whispered. “Fuck me,” though she sees fit to follow it up with, “please.” Despite the wanton lust of the moment, she does still have manners.

This is the first time Quinn has ever heard this kind of language from Rachel, other than the throw-away quoting of song lyrics, and her eyes roll back at how fantastically dirty it sounds. Quinn has always been a good girl. She went to church. She prayed like she was supposed to. She even devoted herself to the celibacy club for the better part of two years, and she believed in what she was doing. But this… hearing Rachel Berry whisper desperately in her ear…

It’s making her discover a new side of herself. A side of herself that must have been there all along, even though she obviously had no idea. It’s the part of her that hears the words ‘fuck me’ fall from Rachel’s lips and floods her own panties at the things it makes her feel.

She can’t wait, and she won’t make Rachel wait, either. With a low groan, she pushes her fingers deep and sets a rhythm against Rachel’s hips.

Rachel’s back arches and head sinks into the comforter as her body adjusts to the sensation of Quinn being, “—oh my god, yes,” right there.

She’s making small noises every time Quinn moves against her and she can’t stop pawing at Quinn, because she wants to be closer, even though it probably isn’t physically possible.

Quinn is not being gentle. She’s not trying to make it last. She’s barely even touched Rachel anywhere else, but she could honestly not care less than she does right now.

Because Rachel Berry is currently slamming her body down to meet Quinn’s thrusts and the noises she’s making are clearly involuntary. Quinn has basically dismantled her, and it’s the hottest thing she’s ever seen. She feels completely animalistic at this new sensation of just taking exactly what she wants, and the way that Rachel is responding to it might make her come without Rachel even touching her.

She already knows the answer based on the tiny cries in the back of Rachel’s throat, but Quinn presses the question into her ear anyway, “Do you like that?”

Rachel makes an attempt to reply with some kind of affirmation, but she’s too busy panting and clawing at the bed with one hand, because she’s about to climax at it’s intense and sudden and everything Quinn is doing just pushes her harder, faster toward that single moment.

”Quinn,” she thinks she says, but all that she hears from herself is a drawn out whine.

When Rachel’s body surges up and goes rigid, Quinn draws it out as long as she possibly can; perhaps too long because now Rachel is just mewling softly and limply shaking her head back and forth. Quinn wraps her up and holds her, trailing a sticky hand through Rachel’s hair and murmuring into her ear how sexy she is.

As for Quinn herself, she feels dizzy. The way Rachel came apart was… she blinks, hard. She’s never seen anything like it. Such raw power and passion. Such desperation. She presses kisses to the base of Rachel’s neck, licks at the sweat beading there, and tries to control her own breathing. If she’s honest, being in control like she just was— and having Rachel respond so wholly to it— is the single most thrilling thing she’s ever felt in her life.

She just took Rachel. And it was amazing.

There’s a very specific sentiment in the back of Rachel’s overloaded mind, but it remains under the surface. Instead, she remains wrapped up in Quinn while her body relaxes and her breathing steadies. Her heart is still pounding, but that isn’t going to slow down any time, soon.

Quinn smiles lazily and traces patterns with absent fingers over a very tan hip. She kisses Rachel’s temple. “I’ve never seen anything like that,” she murmurs. “How do you feel?”

Rachel takes a few slow breaths before replying, “Like I can’t remember how to move.”

Quinn’s laugh rumbles deep. “Poor baby,” she says. In the back of her mind, she’s concerned that maybe she hurt Rachel. It was a very long, physically demanding day, and she probably should have been able to control herself, but she just couldn’t. “Seriously. Are you okay? You were sore before we…” She trails off, picks at the sheet. “Are you?”

God, she still can’t even say it.

The worried tone in Quinn’s voice makes Rachel push herself up enough to look at her. “I’m absolutely fine, baby.” In the interest of reassurance, she kisses Quinn’s nose before she drops back against the bed.

No one has ever used any kind of affectionate term with Quinn (except for her mother, who still can’t seem to grasp how much Quinn loathes being called ‘Quinnie’). The way that Rachel calls Quinn ‘baby,’ to say nothing of when it usually happens, does something to her. She used to be afraid of what Rachel makes her feel, and has always held at a distance, but since she’s losing Rachel in less than a week, she doesn’t care so much about maintaining her distance anymore.

They’re laying tangled together, with Quinn’s hand still wet with Rachel, and Rachel’s breath bursting hot against her skin, and she just doesn’t care.

She pulls Rachel closer and nuzzles her neck. “I really love it when you call me that,” she whispers.


	26. I Love You, but Goodbye

Quinn shifts her Volkswagen into park and squints through the darkness. She can make out a faint flicker, which she assumes is Rachel, and makes her way towards it. Once she’s close enough, and her eyes have adjusted, she sees Rachel sitting on her knees on a blanket in the grass. Her electric lantern is in the grass, and a soft orange glow falls on Rachel so that it makes her look softer, somehow.

“Hi,” Quinn says, and kneels beside her. “You look… really amazing tonight.” 

“Thank you,” Rachel says, smiling at Quinn. “So do you. I mean, you always do… I don’t know if I tell you that enough…” She laughs quietly to herself, because she’s a little nervous. They have so little time left here, in Lima, and she feels like she has so much to say to Quinn. “How was your drive over here?”

Quinn at first warms to Rachel’s words and then feels… oddly like they reflect a reality of a couple in a relationship. Which they’re not. And then, the words are really just stalling. Quinn levels Rachel with a look that says “really?” Out loud, she says, “It’s ten minutes away.” She scoots closer and trails her fingers over the words on Rachel’s wrist: something she finds herself doing more and more whenever they’re together. She remembers sitting in Rachel’s car in a nearly-empty parking lot one stifling afternoon after her mother came home drunk and Rachel rescued her, took her to the movies, just to get away. She’d touched Quinn’s wrist in the car just like this, and it had burned for hours after. Get it right. 

“You seem nervous,” Quinn says softly. 

“So, traffic was good, then?” Rachel’s trying to make a joke at her own expense, but she realizes it’s silly and she forces herself to relax as she shifts off of her knees and sits on the blanket. “I suppose I am a little nervous,” she admits. “We don’t have very much time left and I… I’m just glad you’re here.”

Quinn wants to hold her, even more so after hearing Rachel talk about how they’re running out of time. Up until this point, she hasn’t said much about it, and Quinn has felt relatively alone concerning the fact that it’s constantly on her mind. She’s losing Rachel in a few days. It’s not even a week anymore. It’s days. 

She drops her gaze. “I can’t believe that it’s here,” she says. “You’re really leaving.” She relaxes into the blanket and pulls Rachel down next to her.

Rachel slips both of her arms around Quinn and rests her head on her shoulder. “I’m really going to miss you.” She’s been so positive about the upcoming move all summer long, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t been thinking about what and who she’s leaving behind.

“Rachel…” Quinn says. She means it as a warning, but it doesn’t sound harsh at all. It sounds defeated. Her fingers find their way into Rachel’s hair, like always. “Please. This is hard enough as it is.” 

“I know,” Rachel sighs against Quinn’s neck. 

She has no idea, anymore, what she should keep to herself and what she should say aloud. But she’s leaving Lima, she’s moving away, with no plan to ever move back. New York has been her plan, her future, her career, her ideal life. But when she mapped it out for the very first time, on a Saturday afternoon, listening to her Ultimate Broadway Playlist, the week before she first set foot in William McKinley High School, she never considered that there might be someone back in Ohio who had a hold on her heart.

“You can’t be thinking about how difficult it is. You can’t think about anything other than how much you want this.” Quinn doesn’t know what else to say. I’ll miss you too? We didn’t have enough time? I didn’t know that I could feel like this about another person? 

She can’t. She can’t say any of it. She focuses on the rise and fall of Rachel’s breath and says, “You belong in New York. And nothing should hold you back.” For now, the tears that she’s been crying at night stay dammed up inside. For now, she’s okay. Rachel won’t see her cry. Not tonight. Not over this. 

Rachel lifts her head up, but keeps her arms around Quinn. “Just because I want to be in New York doesn’t mean I want to be away from everyone who’s important to me.” She appreciates Quinn’s supportive words, but she also can’t help but wish… wish what? For Quinn to beg her to stay? Or swear that she’d follow Rachel, anywhere? That was what Finn had done and it had ultimately ended them. “I know I belong there. But…”

This entire situation is laid out on eggshells. Rachel is far too strong to need to be protected, yet here she is, incredibly vulnerable. Quinn could offer comfort, maybe. She can’t ask Rachel to wait for her. She won’t. It would never even dawn on her to ask Rachel to stay. 

It’s so painful, and confusing. She hasn’t hurt this much in a long time. She finally just pulls Rachel tighter and waits for her to tell Quinn what she needs. 

“But I…” Rachel squeezes her eyes tightly shut, because she can’t bear the thought of crying, right now. She knows it’s ultimately inevitable, but she wants to try, to stay calm, so she doesn’t just seem like a desperate emotional wreck when she says, “… wasn’t expecting to fall in love with you.”

Quinn’s gasp burns her throat. She never thought— It’s not— This can’t be happening. Rachel is in love with her. The tears she has so carefully kept at bay pulse in her throat and fill her eyes. She’s lost. How is she supposed to find her way from here? 

“Rachel,” she manages. The pain in her heart is overwhelming. It actually physically hurts, and she shuts her eyes against it. “You can’t…” Her voice trails off. She has no idea anymore, not about anything. Rachel is in love with her. Rachel is in love with her. “You can’t be,” she finally whispers. She doesn’t let go. She couldn’t ever let go, not now. 

“Why?” It almost sounds like a laugh. Rachel blinks her eyes open. “Because I’m leaving? Or because you think… you think, what? That I can’t possibly feel this way about you?” Quinn’s arms are still around her, so that’s a good sign. But she has no idea what will happen when they eventually have to get up. Not that she plans to for a while. But she knows nothing’s planned out tonight.

“Not because I think—” Quinn takes a deep breath. “It would just be so much easier. It wouldn’t hurt so much, maybe. Please don’t think…” She tries again. “Anyone would be lucky to be with you, Rach. So lucky.” 

A tear rolls down her cheek, but she makes no move to wipe it away. It would only draw attention to it, and right now, that’s the last thing she wants. 

“Then be with me, Quinn. It doesn’t have to hurt. We could…” Rachel doesn’t even think about what she’s proposing, she just knows she doesn’t want to leave for New York and have to write Quinn off as a summer fling. “… we could make it work.” The desperation she was so earnestly avoiding earlier is suddenly apparent as her voice cracks when she adds, “Couldn’t we?”

Quinn’s reaction is what anguish sounds like. She chokes it off and gets some kind of control again. Rachel can’t ask this of her. Can’t she see that it’s breaking her heart? “It’s six hundred miles away. I don’t even know if I’ll ever have enough money to move there. It’s just… it’s not fair. You’re starting this whole new life, and— you can’t have anybody dragging you down.” The tears are getting harder to hold back. 

Rachel’s breath shakes as she draws it in and tries to keep her own tears at bay. “You’re not some dead weight I’m trying to shake, Quinn. You’re talented and beautiful and if you would just… see what I see in you…” It’s too hard. She can’t say anything else because tears are spilling over and she just clings to Quinn as she cries.

“Rach…” Quinn’s heart hurts. “Baby, please don’t cry.” There’s nothing she can do but hold her girl and let her cry. Except that Rachel isn’t hers. Not really.

She makes soothing sounds and smooths Rachel’s hair until finally she murmurs, “I’m not saying I’m a dead weight, but… look at this week. Your roommate… you’ve been talking to her this whole time, and I had no idea. Not that you have to tell me every single thing, but I didn’t even know, Rach. And you’re still here. How do you think it’s going to be when you’re six hundred miles away with all of these friends and plans a-and dates. You’re going to have a whole life there.”

She can’t hold back her tears any longer. She just hopes that she can cry silently. The bitch of all this is, she refused to call what she’s been doing with Rachel all summer dating because she needed to protect herself from the pain of Rachel moving on. And here they are, breaking up anyway. 

Everything Quinn is saying makes sense. New York is ten hours away by car and plane tickets aren’t exactly inexpensive. Rachel will be starting a brand new chapter of her life, featuring a new cast of characters, and she knows the city will envelop her, as will her school schedule.

But Rachel doesn’t care about logic. Love isn’t about what makes sense, it’s about what the heart wants. And Rachel Berry’s heart wants both New York and Quinn Fabray.

When she raises her head to press a needy kiss to Quinn’s cheek, she’s met with wet skin and realizes that Quinn is crying, too. “Hey,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to…” All she can do is follow through on the kiss she originally intended to leave, then continues with more until she’s gasping for air against Quinn’s lips. It’s like all the love she’s feeling inside has to find a way out before she leaves and this is the only way she knows how to release it.

When they finally break apart, Quinn is only crying harder. They lay together in the dark, both of them in tears, both of them searching for a way to hold on to what they have. In this moment, it’s impossible to say who’s holding who. They’re both drowning. 

Finally, once she finds a way to calm herself and the tears are only just slowly rolling down her cheeks, Quinn says softly, “This is killing me, you know. I care about you so much, and I— I don’t exactly want to lose you, Rach.”

She lifts Rachel’s hand to her mouth and presses trembling fingers against her lips, slowly, one by one. She can’t stop what’s happening to them. But she can show Rachel how hard it is for her. No masks, no walls. Just Quinn.

Rachel wants to stay right there, on the blanket, under the stars, indefinitely. “I won’t be lost, Quinn. I’ll be in New York.” Quinn’s arms around her are keeping her grounded, preventing her from just floating up into space. “And that won’t change the way I feel about you.”

“I just— I don’t know.” Quinn blows some air up into her bangs. “I don’t want it to be so final. Can we just— I don’t know how this is supposed to go, but I also know that long distance doesn’t work, and— we’re still both so young—”

She wishes, more than anything, that she could stop crying.

They’re so tightly wound together, Rachel can’t tell if she’s shaking on her own or if it’s Quinn. She wants to be optimistic, but she doesn’t know how to make the inevitable work for them. Not in a way where one of them isn’t seriously compromised.

“Can we just, right now, pretend like I’m not going anywhere?” she asks. “What would happen, then?”

Quinn sighs. “You are going somewhere.” She presses her lips to the top of Rachel’s head and says, “But, if you weren’t, I guess I would just want to hold you tonight, like I did the last time we were here together. And then you can go to New York, and I’ll be a Fabray and deal with it. Just, let me have one more night of just us. Please.” 

The last word is barely a whisper by the time she’s done. The only times she’s ever felt this vulnerable in her life have all had to do with Beth, and the idea that Rachel and Beth both somehow make her feel lost in the same way is almost too much. She tightens her arms around Rachel in the dark.

Quinn’s use of ‘us’ already has Rachel on the verge of a new round of tears, and the ‘please’ pushes her over. Leaving Ohio for New York is supposed to be one of the top ten most exciting moments of her life. Instead, she’s lying in the dark, curled against Quinn, hating that she has to go. 

“Okay,” she sniffs. “Just us. Rachel and Quinn. In Lima.” She laughs, in spite of herself. “It’s something like closing night, isn’t it? I suppose I should get used to it.”

“That’s right,” Quinn says. She hates that Rachel is so broken, but having to be strong for her is serving to make Quinn dry her tears and focus on the comfort she can give. She strokes Rachel’s hair and hums against her. She can fall apart later, when Rachel is safely in New York. “It’s exactly like closing night. You’re Rachel Berry. You can do this. You can do anything.” 

This is the girl who loves her. Rachel loves her. The least she can do is be supportive of the dream she’s had since she was a little girl. Nothing else matters, really. Right?

She breathes through her nose and tries to tell herself that when Rachel leaves it won’t break her heart into a million pieces. 

“So can you,” Rachel’s voice is soft and steady, but only because she’s making an effort. “Everyone says I can do anything, but you… You’ve already done so much.” She’s thinking about Beth, but she doesn’t feel it’s necessary to clarify. “You are going to do amazing things, Quinn. And I want to know about all of them. I want to see some of them, if you’ll let me.”

Hearing Rachel’s desires delivered up in that sweet voice, Quinn just wants to cry. She wants to scream at the top of her lungs, she wants to claw somebody’s eyes out. She wants to beg Rachel to never stop loving her. But she won’t. She can’t; it’s not fair to Rachel. To either of them. What she does do is squeeze Rachel’s shoulder and say, in the calmest voice she can, “Of course you can, Rach. You can have anything you want. Anything that’s in my power to give you. I—” 

She’s going to say more, but there’s no need to make this harder than it is, so she clamps down and runs her fingers through Rachel’s hair. “You’re going to be so great. I can’t wait to watch you make it.” 

Rachel forces herself to smile at Quinn’s promise of greatness, but all she can think about is how she really does have the prospect of almost anything she ever wants lying in front of her.

But almost isn’t quite enough.


	27. Not So Bad Leroy Berry, the Daddiest Dad in the Whole Damn... Area

Despite the fact that just about every possession she feels she can’t live without is packed up in a box or suitcase, Rachel’s room doesn’t look as bare as she’d imagined it would. There are still books on the shelves and posters on the walls. If anything, it looks like she’s in the middle of a light renovation instead of moving six hundred miles away for what could easily be the rest of her life.  
   
For now, she’s trying to making final decisions on which leg warmers make the final cut. Despite Kurt’s insistence that a single pair is all that’s necessary, she wants at least four. She can’t really bring herself to choose any one over the others, so when she hears footsteps in the hall, she calls out, “Daddy? Can you help me with something?”   
   
She knows it’s Leroy, because Hiram is out at the monthly interfaith council meeting and this is their final Daddy/Daughter duet night. It’s always been important for them all to engage in family activities, both as a trio and in pairs.  
   
Leroy backtracks to his daughter’s room and leans around the doorframe, a cup of tea in one hand. He’s still in his dinner jacket and vest, and he always looks dapper, but when he sees his only daughter surrounded by boxes, he knows he must look exhausted. He’s been dreading this day for eighteen years.   
   
“What’s up, honey?”

She holds up a pair in each hand. “Purple with stars or green with musical notes?” Just about every other decision has been made on her own and it feels like it might be a little silly to request advice on something like this, but the way he seems to genuinely consider what she’s asking makes her feel better.

Leroy pulls a face. “How could you possibly expect me to choose between stars and musical notes?” He takes a sip of tea. “Is there any reason why you can’t take both?”

Rachel’s shoulders slump as she resigns to explaining why she’s nitpicking between two small items that will easily fit into the box she still has open. “Kurt… recommended I cut down on the leg accessories.”

Leroy’s mouth opens in a silent “ah,” and then he smiles. “It seems like you make pretty good decisions to me, sweetheart. Especially lately.” He risks a wink, even though it might be too soon. “How are you feeling about everything? Stressing over leg warmers… well, I was going to say that it isn’t like you, but we both know that it’s exactly like you. Still, is everything okay, Rach?”

Rachel nods as she tosses all four individual leg warmers into the box, but when she looks back up at her father, she shrugs. “I’m… excited to be going to New York, of course. But even though I’ve been looking forward to this my entire life, it feels… sudden.”

It isn’t so drastic as to be alarming, but it is new, and new for his daughter new is usually not the best sign. Leroy steps into Rachel’s room more fully, gives her his full attention. There isn’t anything in this world he loves more. Maybe Hiram, or well, if he can call it a tie… 

“Okay, bubbelah. What’s going on?”

She considers writing all of this off as a round of last minute jitters, but she knows her fathers and neither of them are known for leaving things alone if they think anything is amiss.

“I’m going to miss everyone. You, Dad, my friends…” Rachel doesn’t know how long she can dodge the topic of Quinn, but she certainly doesn’t want to dive right into it.

“Rachel.” Leroy sets his tea down on her nightstand and sits next to her on the bed. “You’ve known since you were four years old that you’re leaving here. We’ve been planning this your entire life. Of course you’ll miss your friends, but they’ll visit you. We’ll visit.” 

He knows his daughter. He knows that this isn’t the whole story, but he also knows that letting Rachel come into things like this on her own is the best way to handle her. She’s headstrong and focused, and it just works better this way. So he waits. 

“I know. Especially you two. I’ve seen Dad’s Broadway Visitation Rotation strategy. Kurt will be there, which means Blaine is likely to come out and see him. We’ll probably see Mercedes, every once in a while, too. And Quinn said she…” 

It’s quick, the onset of the tears, likely because her declaration to Quinn is still so fresh and they haven’t really had the opportunity to talk much since. Rachel does her best to blink them back. As much as she prides herself on her emotional range, she doesn’t enjoy crying in front of her parents. At least, not anymore and even back when she did, it was more about getting what she wanted, at the time. Not that she would ever manipulate anyone with tears. Much.

“Ah, Quinn.” Leroy isn’t surprised, not really. But he sees the tears in his daughter’s eyes and how valiantly she’s trying to hold them back, and his heart breaks for her. His arms are around her in a second. “She can visit, too, honey. She can come up with us any time if she can’t on her own. You know that.” 

Rachel leans into the embrace and wipes at her eyes with the back of one hand. She’s quiet for a moment before she says, “I know you’re dying to ask… so, just ask me.” As much as she wants to respect Quinn’s privacy, Rachel needs to talk about this, even though she’s already discussed their situation with Holly and Kurt, this is different. She also has a feeling her father, or both of them, know more than they’re letting on. “You wouldn’t have invited her if you didn’t think…”

“You know that we trust you.” Leroy doesn’t let her go. “And you know that neither of us would invade your privacy. However, since you asked… what’s going on with Quinn, honey?”

“We’ve been…” There are plenty of complications that she doesn’t care to get into. And, if she’s honest with herself about what’s been happening over the summer, the simplest answer is, “… engaged in an undefined casual courtship without expectation to continue after my departure.”

Leroy’s eyebrows lift and he pulls back enough to look at her. “So, you’ve been… dating,” he says slowly, just to be sure. 

Rachel nods. “And I… we… it wasn’t supposed to carry over to New York, but… I don’t know what’s happening.” Her voice becomes very quiet when she says “I just know how I feel about her.”

Rachel’s tone deepens the crack in Leroy’s heart. She’s always been a girl who cares so much - too much - and she always ends up hurt somehow. No father wants his little girl to be perpetually heartbroken, and Leroy Berry is certainly no exception. Consequently, he can’t help it if there’s a bite to his voice when he asks, “Has she hurt you? She’s ruining something that has been a dream of yours for a very long time.” 

He just wants her to be happy. That’s all he and Hiram have ever wanted for her. 

There’s an adamant shake of the head. “No, Daddy. No, she hasn’t at all,” Rachel promises, sitting upright and wiping at her eyes, again. “She was clear about how this wouldn’t work from the beginning and I… still wanted it.” She shakes her head at herself. “I always want everything. And then I’m upset when I have to make a choice.” It’s a rationalization she’s been making all day.

“So, you’re leaving, and…” Leroy is trying to make the connection, “…breaking up. I’m so sorry, little star.” Leroy frowns. “But… if she’s coming with us…?” It really doesn’t add up, not even for Rachel’s standards. 

“We still want to spend as much time as we can together. And we…” Rachel brushes away what looks like leg warmer fuzz off of her shorts. “We haven’t exactly decided what is or isn’t happening next.” She sighs and clears her throat. “But I don’t want her following me there. I didn’t want that with Finn and I don’t want it with her. She’s too smart and too talented to just trail after me wherever I go.” Another breath. “I just wish maybe she’d make it seem like she wants to, once in a while,” she admits.

“Baby girl,” Leroy says. Honestly, he’s not even sure where to begin. “It sounds like you’re saying that you don’t want her to go with you, but you want her to say that she wants to? I know that I don’t know her very well, but she doesn’t seem like the type of girl who would be okay with that. Maybe this is a crazy idea, but why don’t you just continue to date and see each other when you can?”

She sulks before she finally says, “You’re right. She… doesn’t want me to have to leave, but she’d never hold me back, either. It’s just so hard, Daddy.” Rachel leans against Leroy’s shoulder, defeated. “You… think long distance is possible?”

“Well, I would say that it depends. On how much you care about each other.” Leroy kisses her on top of her head. “I love you, little star. Your dad and I don’t want you to settle. And we don’t want you to deny yourself something that will make you happy. Is it… is long distance something Quinn wants? Is it something you want?” 

“I think we’re both convinced it can’t work. I don’t know.” Rachel really isn’t sure why she and Quinn can’t seem to sit down and actually discuss a way to make this work out for them. It seems so simple when someone else says it. “What I do know is that… I’m in love with her, Daddy. And as much as New York has going for it… it doesn’t have her.”

Leroy can’t help the tears or the fact that he has to close his eyes against them. “We raised you to be proud of how you live your life. And you know that we support you in whomever you love, Rachel. I just wish you didn’t have to be sad about it. It should be a happy thing, being in love. Does she… reciprocate?” 

“Quinn doesn’t really… talk a lot about her feelings.” Rachel can sense that Leroy’s about to say something, but she puts up her hand to let him know she isn’t done. “But she’s better at showing them. Sometimes when she doesn’t even realize it. She believes in me, I know that. She doesn’t want me to watch scary movies by myself. Or at all, if she thinks I’m too scared. She lets me call her in the middle of the night if those movies give me nightmares. She remembers the things that are important to me. I know that, despite my Itinerary of Fun, she’s probably convinced that she’ll be miserable on this car trip, but she’s still coming, anyway. And for a long time, even before this summer, she’s been the one person who will always be honest with me if I need advice.” She pokes at the box on the floor with her foot. “So, even if she hasn’t said it with certain specific words, I know she has feelings for me.”

“It sounds like you’ve really thought about this,” Leroy says, and he’s reminded for the millionth time in his life what an incredible daughter he has. No one else has her optimism. Well, again, maybe Hiram…

“She’s all I’ve been thinking about since last night.”

“Well, okay. That sounds fair. She’ll be with us for the next few days. Though, we may have to revisit our hotel arrangements.” He kisses her again. “I promise you, baby girl, it’s going to be okay. You’ll miss her, but you’ll email and Skype and talk on the phone. Just like we do. And for as long as you want us to, your dad and I will always treat Quinn as if she were part of this family.” 

Rachel doesn’t even attempt to comment on the hotel arrangements, because the last thing she needs is either of her fathers making a comment about ‘at least Quinn can’t get Rachel pregnant.’ Instead, she sniffs and reaches for the tissue box on her nightstand. “Thank you.” She wraps both her arms around him and hugs him tightly. 

“You’re essentially thanking me for being your father, and it happens to be a job I enjoy, so no thanks necessary, little star.” He holds her for as long as he can, because tomorrow he has to begin to let her go. “Everything is going to be fine. I’m so proud of you.” He thinks about telling her that they’ll visit every year. That she won’t ever have to wonder if they love her, because they’ll be there for every performance. They’ll get pictures when she graduates, all of them together, and hang them in the foyer. And if Quinn Fabray happens to be there for all of that, well, he can think of a lot worse things in the world. He thinks about telling her all of this, but he doesn’t because he’s sure she already knows.

As Rachel finally pulls away, she takes in another breath and even smiles a little. “So, you two are going to be all right with the fact that I’m involved in a same-sex relationship, despite the lack of an actual defined relationship?”

Leroy looks at his daughter as if he can’t tell if she’s ever been serious a day in her life. “I think I’m more concerned about the fact that she has you rethinking New York than the fact that she’s a girl,” he finally says. “Do you really think we would have a problem with you being in a same-sex relationship?” 

“No,” she says, laughing lightly. “And you should know Quinn would probably drag me into the city herself if she thought I wasn’t going for any reason. She’s somewhat made a point of threatening me about it over the years.”

Quinn and threatening in the same sentence. He can’t help it; he bristles. It’s just for a second, but it’s there. He’s a forgiving man, but what kind of father would he be if he just forgot everything? He reminds himself that certain things are in the past, and the Quinn he’s had at his dinner table playing footsie with his daughter is a far different Quinn that the one who used to make her miserable. “I’ve seen how she looks at you, Rach. It’s no surprise to me that you’re very important to her. As long as she really makes you happy, your dad and I are good.”

“I’d thank you, but you won’t let me.” Rachel puts her hand over his and pats it. “Did you get the sheet music for tonight?” She’s been looking forward to this final round of pre-college duets all week.

He grins. “Are you kidding? I have it sorted first by genre and then by range.” There’s a wink and an answering bounce and clap on Rachel’s part, and then they head hand in hand downstairs, leaving worries and uncertainties along with the stacks of boxes in Rachel’s room - if only for tonight. “You know, the next time we have a duet night, I expect that you’ll already have a certain level of recognition in the city, at least in certain areas. I wonder if I’ll be nervous to sing with my own starlet daughter.” 

When she laughs and smacks him lightly on the arm, he knows that she’ll be okay.


	28. Broadway Walk of Shame

If she thought surviving dinner in the Berry home was tough, it had nothing on New York. All three Berrys are fully animated and talking over one another, but not in a disrespectful way. It’s just very clear that they’re all incredibly excited to be here. The restaurant is nice enough, and has plenty of vegan and non-vegan options, and they’re in New York for crying out loud, but Quinn really just can’t take her eyes off of Rachel. 

The way she laughs and claps her hands at something her dad says, tucks her hair back, smacks him lightly on the arm… Quinn has never seen her so lit up, not even during Nationals. She’s gorgeous. She’s gorgeous and talented and she’s in love with Quinn. Quinn still can’t get over that. Rachel is in love with her.   
  
She tilts her head, squints her eyes just so, and she doesn’t even care if people see her staring, for once. In her whole life, she’s never seen anything more beautiful than Rachel Berry in New York.   
  
Rachel catches Quinn looking in her direction and smiles before she chews on the corner of her lip and centers her gaze on her salad. She’s used to being the center of attention and she can handle herself in many a public scenario, but Quinn has this ability to make her blush with something as simple as a glance, let alone the lingering look Rachel’s getting, right now.  
  
Hiram and Leroy are doing their best not to call attention to the young lovers at the table, but it’s growing increasingly difficult by the minute.  
  
“So, Quinn, what’s on top of your To Do list for this trip?” Hiram asks, between casual sips of wine.  
  
Quinn tears her eyes away from Rachel and tries to think. “I’m game for whatever is on Rachel’s itinerary. Obviously, helping her get settled is why I’m here.” She throws a smile in Rachel’s direction. “But I wouldn’t mind doing a little touring. Maybe taking some pictures. I know we were here a few months ago, but I didn’t really get much time to myself during that trip. We were all so focused on Nationals.”   
  
“At least we weren’t busy writing songs the entire time.” Rachel scans the table for the bread basket until she spots it. “Quinn, would you pass the bread, please?” It’s a simple and innocent request, but under the watchful and knowing eyes of her fathers, it feels more intimate and she thinks she realizes why Quinn seems anxious about their non-relationship status being common knowledge.  
  
“New Directions was remarkable, as always.” Leroy lifts his glass just a little higher, as if in an informal toast. “Good luck to them next year without our little star’s star power.”  
  
“Huh,” Leroy says. “I guess we all have already been to the city together.”  
  
Quinn’s fingers are still tingling from where Rachel brushed them with her own when she took the bread basket. She rubs at them absently and searches for something, for anything, she can talk to Rachel’s dads about. She’s terrified that the conversation is going to degenerate rapidly into a game of “so tell us more about how you enjoy sleeping with our baby girl,” and she just can’t handle it.   
  
What she says out loud is, “I miss performing. My experience with glee is about the happiest I can remember.”   
  
“You should investigate the community theatre circuit. If Yale thinks you’re good enough, the Lima Town Players should be happy to have you.” Rachel knows Quinn’s skill set is beyond that, but she also knows having a mediocrity outlet is better than none at all.  
  
Quinn hums and says, “Maybe,” in that way she has that’s completely noncommittal. It’s time for the attention to be off of her. She can only handle so much. “Mr. and Mr. Berry, are you planning on doing anything special while we’re here? Besides getting Rachel settled, I mean.” She mumbles something about ‘keeping an eye on her roommate,’ but she knows it’s low enough that they couldn’t possibly hear. Still, Rachel and her roommate have been communicating a lot over the past week, and they seem to have a sickening amount in common. With them both being in the arts, and with them living together for an entire year in such close quarters, and with Rachel being as gorgeous as she is… Quinn knows she doesn’t have the right to say anything, but still. She doesn’t have to like it.   
  
Rachel picks up that Quinn mutters something, but she can’t make it out. If their time spent together in glee club is any indication, it’s more than likely Quinn’s annoyed with something. Except, the evening has been quite pleasant, so far.  
  
She waits to catch Quinn’s eye, then shoots her a concerned look, as if to ask of she’s all right.  
  
Meanwhile, Hiram’s been rattling off his list of places to visit, this time around. “Tomorrow, though, aside from our brunch reservation, you two are welcome to be on your own. The handwritten request from our daughter had nothing to do with that decision.”  
  
It’s clear that Rachel noticed her muttering under her breath, but if she’d heard the actual words, Quinn is fairly confident that she’d be dragged halfway to the restroom by now for a different type of under-the-breath discussion instead of getting just a look at the table. Namely, a discussion where Rachel is angry at her for assuming that this new roommate automatically wants in Rachel’s pants or perhaps even for implying a caveman-like assertion of ownership over her. Neither of which Quinn is trying to do, but… she sighs and shakes her head softly, trying to let Rachel know that it’s nothing.  
  
Thank god for Hiram. Quinn turns her attention to him. Sunday in the city, alone with Rachel. She can definitely handle that. Before she knows it, she’s smiling at him, which turns into a full-blown laugh. “She really submitted a formal request?”  
  
It’s this type of thing that makes Quinn’s chest feel too full, like it will burst any moment with all of the emotion she feels. No one in this world is like Rachel Berry. No one. And Quinn is lucky enough to be this close to her. Whatever that entails, she doesn’t actually know. But she still feels lucky.  
  
Leroy laughs as he nods. “She certainly did. It’s not particularly unusual in our household.”  
  
“It has been my experience, both personally and academically, that formal requests are less likely to be ignored,” Rachel huffs. She can’t be angry, though, because she knows the teasing is all good-natured.  
  
Also, despite whatever happened a few moments ago, Quinn’s eyes are bright and she looks to be genuinely enjoying herself.  
  
“Obviously,” Quinn agrees. “It worked.” She would love nothing more than to reach across the table and hold Rachel’s hand, but she just can’t in front of her fathers. Instead, she tells them how good the meal is and thanks them again for inviting her. When she’s nervous, she either falls back on her head Cheerio persona or relies on her formal upbringing. In this case, she’d prefer for Rachel’s dads not to see the head cheerleader. Ever.   
  
Rachel is still enjoying herself, is still glowing from the inside, out, and Quinn promises herself that she will not ruin it.   
  
As Leroy studies the dessert menu, Hiram consults the time, then looks to Rachel. “Well, Racheleh,  assume you want to take the Broadway Walk after dinner?”  
  
“Yes, definitely.” The Broadway Walk is something she and her dads developed during their multiple trips to the city and it’s become something of a tradition. She’s antsy, now, and the fact that Leroy is taking so long to choose between the three different cheesecakes selections is making her squirm in her seat.  
  
Quinn wishes she could reach Rachel’s knee under the table without being obvious. There’s really no other way for her to offer a steadying hand right now, and she can tell that Rachel needs it. “The Broadway Walk?” Quinn asks because it’s the only thing she can think of to get Rachel to focus.   
  
“She picks five major Broadway shows that are currently running and we take pictures of her by the stage doors,” Leroy informs Quinn. “And I think I’ll have the New York cheesecake.”  
  
“You spent so much time looking at that list, you’ve practically memorized it, and now you’re having boring New York cheesecake?” Hiram asks.  
  
“There’s nothing boring about New York!” Rachel and Leroy both say, before laughing at each other.  
  
Quinn grins, partly because she’s really starting to enjoy watching Rachel interact with her dads, and partly because she can actually participate in a family activity this time. “I have my camera,” she tells them, and Rachel beams at her. She’s going to get to photograph Rachel in New York. On Broadway. And with that one simple thought, she’s back to seeing Rachel in New York. She rests her chin on her hand so she can just take it all in.   
  
Once the dessert order is in, the remainder of their time in the restaurant moves quickly, and soon, they’re walking toward Times Square while Rachel studies the Google map on her phone until she settles on the Eugene O’Neill theatre. “We want to go to 49th street,” she says, tucking her phone away in her purse. Her dads are about five paces ahead of them and busy discussing what show they plan to take in tomorrow night, so Rachel reaches over to casually slip her hand into Quinn’s while they walk.  
  
With Rachel’s hand in hers, Quinn is experiencing several things at once. First, the exhilaration of the crowd, New York City, busy, and Quinn loves how she feels when she’s here. Secondly, the tingle that she always feels whenever Rachel is touching her in some way. There’s an almost electric connection between the two of them, and it only seems to get stronger with time. There are several other things going through her mind, but the last big one is that Rachel’s dads are right in front of them, and she’ll be sleeping in the same bed as Rachel tonight, one wall away from them, and from what Rachel has said, they already suspect that their baby girl is physically involved with Quinn, and… She can’t. She just can’t.   
  
She pulls her hand away, seriously enough that there’s a purpose behind it and she knows that Rachel can tell. “Your dads are right there,” she whispers in Rachel’s ear.   
  
Rachel feels like she’s been doused in cold water. Everything up until now has been bordering on perfect, even with Quinn’s general obsession with Rachel’s dads knowing anything about their relationship. Because that’s what it is. A relationship. Whether or not either of them want to put a name on it, that’s what it is.  
  
“So?” Rachel shoots back, not quite as quietly as Quinn’s initial whisper. Not that it matters a block away from Times Square.  
  
“So, I am not okay with us draping ourselves all over one another right in front of them. There is such a thing as decorum.” Quinn folds her arms across her chest. “They already know that we’re involved, apparently, and I didn’t even get a heads up about that.”  
  
“You didn’t seem to have a problem with it in the car.” Granted, that particular handholding had occurred under a conveniently placed sweatshirt, but Rachel’s in her city and this is her weekend before she takes the next big step in her life. “I didn’t realize it was necessary for me to brief you on all of my family conversations.” They’ve stopped walking and she’s lost track of her fathers, for the moment.  
  
“You don’t,” Quinn says. The way Rachel says that last sentence makes her feel like she’s been slapped. “It just would be nice to know that there’s an important conversation going on about me, that’s all. I mean, I don’t even tell my therapist—” Quinn turns to face her fully, her arms still wrapped securely around her body. Rachel is angry; Quinn can see it all over her face. “And you know that the car was different. And since then, we’ve had to share a bed right in front of them. I don’t understand how you can’t grasp that this is difficult for me.”   
  
“I never know what to tell you because you never want to actually acknowledge that anything’s really happening.” Rachel’s own arms are crossed over herself as she glares at Quinn. “And I—”  
  
“Excuse,” comes a man’s voice from somewhere in her peripheral vision. It takes Rachel a second to realize he’s talking to her and holding out a camera. He points to the massive array of signs and lights behind him, then gestures to the woman next to him. “You please take.”  
  
“I’m sorry, we…” But Rachel realizes this man probably doesn’t speak much English, given the way he’s currently communicating. She sighs and looks to Quinn. “You’re the photographer.”  
  
Quinn wordlessly takes the man’s camera and waits until they situate themselves before taking two shots and handing it back over. The man waves her away and says, “Other,” and then gestures around again. Quinn rolls her eyes, but complies and forces a tight smile before handing the camera back to him. He’s thanking her, she knows, but she really doesn’t care. She turns back to Rachel.   
  
“You what? You’ve clearly been dying to say whatever you were about to say, Rachel, so let’s have it. You what?”   
  
“I wish you’d realize that nobody cares. My dads, your therapist, all of these people right now? They don’t care if we hold hands or cuddle at night. At least not for any of the reasons you’re worried about.” Rachel pushes her hair out of her face and waits for Quinn to deal her next blow.  
  
Quinn barks out a laugh. “This isn’t about us cuddling at night. This is about—” She blows some air up at her bangs and leans in so that she can lower her voice. “You don’t seem to get it that I don’t have the best self-control around you, Rachel. Do you have any idea how worried I was last night that I was going to do something inappropriate with your dads right there? I barely slept! If they know about us, then they obviously know that—” She can’t even bring herself to say it, not on a busy street in the middle of New York. “I want your dads to like me. Having dinner with them, hanging out with all three of you is more family than I’ve had in—” God, now she’s crying. Fantastic. “I don’t know how to do this, and I’m trying, Rachel.”   
  
Rachel remains calm while Quinn continues to talk, but by the end, she’s shaking her head. “While sexomnia is, in fact, a legitimate sleep disorder, I highly doubt you suffer from it, unless you also have a history of sleep walking of which I’m unaware. I know it’s not about cuddling or holding hands, it’s about you being so scared of… of… I don’t even know what you’re scared of, actually!” She throws her hands up in the air and they eventually settle on her hips. “My dads do like you, which is why you’re standing where you are, right now, instead of wherever you’d be tonight if you weren’t here. And as for me discussing my private life with my own father, that’s my business and while I understand that it makes you uncomfortable that I’m even talking about you… no, not you… us… I have every right to have a conversation about my feelings with my family. What I don’t feel like doing, right now, is looking at you, so…” She crosses her arms back over herself and turns around to stare toward the illuminated red stairs that are still about a block away.  
  
“I’m not a sexomniac,” Quinn snaps. “And I never said that you can’t talk to your family about what you’re feeling, I said it would have been nice to have a heads up about it before getting into a car to drive across the country with them. You could have told me! But, since you can’t even look at me, I guess it’s a relatively moot point, isn’t it?”   
  
Quinn turns on her heel, but before she walks away, she throws over her shoulder, “I’m sorry that I ruined your Broadway Walk.” And the thing is, she really is. She grips her camera tighter and lets her tears fall unimpeded, walking as fast as she can to just get away from the pain that Rachel’s words are making her feel.   
  
Even though it’s highly improbable in a sea of people like the one surrounding her, Rachel swears she can actually hear Quinn walking away from her. She doesn’t even bother to look and, instead, walks deeper into Times Square. It isn’t until she’s actually reached the stairs that she thinks to text her fathers with a message about Quinn feeling ill and promise to eventually meet them at the hotel.  
  
She manages to hold on to her resolve until she drops into one of the empty metal folding chairs that are scattered throughout the square. But once she’s finally stopped moving through the crowd and realizes she sitting still, she begins to cry. There are easily a thousand people swarming around her and yet she’s sure she’s never felt so alone.  
  
It’s maybe an hour before Rachel heads back to the hotel. She actually runs into her dads outside the Times Square Visitor’s Center and she emphasizes the fact that, no, Quinn would not like any ginger ale and, yes, Rachel’s quite fine with heading back to the room on her own. She knows full well they’re clued into the fact that something else is bothering her, but she doesn’t want to talk about it. Not in the middle of everything. She’s done that once, tonight, and it’s already drained all her energy.  
  
She slips her key card into the lock and when the door opens, a light is already on and Quinn’s sitting on the bed, reading.  
  
“Glad you made it back okay,” she says, quietly, before dropping her key on the low dresser that also serves as a television stand. A beat passes and Rachel can’t resist looking back up at Quinn. “I… I’ve never seen you in those before.”  
  
Quinn hums and says, “You too.” She looks up from the book in her lap, sees Rachel stealing a glance at her. “I usually wear my contacts, but I wanted to give my eyes a break tonight.” She crosses her ankles, goes back to her book.   
  
“Oh,” is Rachel’s non-committal reply. She blinks and pulls her gaze away from the sight of Quinn, despite the fact that she pulls off retired-cheer-captain-turned-librarian better than anyone else ever could, and pulls open one of the drawers to remove her own pajamas. The silence between them makes her wish Quinn was still teasing her about unpacking into the dresser for their two night stay.  
  
Quinn does her best to keep her eyes on her book, but when Rachel begins changing into her pajamas at the foot of the bed, she can’t help but look up periodically to check Rachel’s progress. At some point during the production, Quinn gives up her pretense of reading, and she knows that her eyebrows are arching higher with every new inch of skin that’s being revealed right in front of her.   
  
She figures Rachel knows that she’s watching— she might even be doing it on purpose— and Quinn just decides to weather the storm the best she can.   
  
At first, Rachel doesn’t really give it much thought, the fact that she’s changing in front of Quinn. But as her skirt is midway between her waist and the floor, she realizes that this might be something of a complication, given their argument. She isn’t even sure if they’re fighting now or not, because it’s been a while since they’ve had any serious conflict. Her blouse comes off, leaving her in a coordinated bra and panties set that was chosen three days ago, when she packed her weekend bag, with the knowledge that she and Quinn would be having their first night alone in the city together.  
  
So far, it isn’t at all turning out the way she’d imagined.  
  
Quinn hopes that her gasp is soft enough that Rachel doesn’t hear it, because it’s not like she’s used to seeing Rachel in almost no clothes, but she can’t exactly act on what it’s making her feel tonight, either. In an effort to overcome this new obstacle, she reads the same line in her book over four times. By the time Rachel pulls on her shorts adorned with dancing cupcakes, Quinn still has no idea what it says.   
  
As Rachel tugs the matching cupcake tank top on, she catches Quinn staring at her and Rachel can’t stop thinking about how much she likes the added feature of the glasses on Quinn’s face. “… I’m going to brush my teeth.”  
  
Quinn focuses her attention back on her book with a hum because, really, is she supposed to react somehow to Rachel’s announcement? Rachel pushes the bathroom door to and Quinn can hear the water running. She assumes that Rachel is also washing her face because she’s always been serious about her daily routine and why would being in New York change that? Quinn turns a page, but she’s still not reading. She’s thinking of Rachel standing in plain view, changing her clothes like it’s no big deal. Like it shouldn’t have some kind of effect on Quinn.   
  
She rolls her eyes at herself again and tucks her legs beneath the covers. She’s exhausted from all the crying she did earlier, and she hopes that her eyes aren’t puffy anymore, but Rachel does seem to like her glasses okay. By the time Rachel pulls open the bathroom door, Quinn is engrossed in her book once again.   
  
Rachel works her way through her evening routine, which has been modified for travel. She plugs in her cell phone and places it on the nightstand next to her side of the bed. Next to the phone, she places an unopened water bottle, then she removes her slippers and climbs into bed. Before she lies down, she pulls open the nightstand and produces a sleep mask, which she places over her eyes. As soon as she’s comfortably positioned under the covers, with her head on the pillow, she says, “Goodnight, Quinn.”  
  
The entire time between Rachel leaving the bathroom and telling her goodnight seems like a carefully constructed exercise in avoidance to Quinn. She says nothing, just lets Rachel go through her motions, and then when Rachel is settled and says goodnight, Quinn lays her book down and her glasses on top of it and snaps of the light.   
  
“Goodnight, Rach,” she says in the dark. She hates this. Hates that they fought, hates that they hurt each other. She can still hear the bitter echo of Rachel’s words and the wound in her heart tears open fresh. She bites her lip in the dark and tells herself that tomorrow will be better. It has to be. It’s their last day together.   
  
Rachel hears the click of the lamp and feels Quinn shift positions next to her. “… you can keep reading if you want. That’s why I brought the mask.” It seems like a ridiculous talking point, but it really is why she came prepared. Quinn’s a night owl and Rachel’s an early riser. It only made sense to expect Quinn to stay awake for a while.  
  
“It’s fine. I’m not really able to concentrate anyway. Might as well just try and fall asleep.”  
  
“What are you reading? Or… were you reading?”  
  
“Wuthering Heights.”   
  
Rachel rolls over just enough to turn her head and look over her shoulder at Quinn. Well, if the lights were on and she weren’t wearing a mask over her eyes, she’d be looking at her. “Really? I wasn’t aware that Harlequin Romance issued an edition of that classic with a hardbodied firefighter on the cover.”  
  
Quinn rolls her eyes so hard that she can actually feel them strain a little. “Police officer,” Quinn mutters, and then slightly louder, but still quiet enough for it to sound more hurt than aggressive, “I’m surprised you were able to tell what I was reading, what with your inability to look at me tonight and all.”  
  
“Are you honestly surprised that I, of all people, reacted dramatically to something that was, and still is, upsetting me?” Rachel pushes the mask up off of her eyes until it rests on her forehead.  
  
“Rachel, I don’t want to upset you. I’m sorry that I did. And I get that you’re mad at me, but I can’t go back and change what happened tonight.” She takes a deep breath because this might start everything all over again, and she does not want that to happen, but it still needs to be said. She reminds herself to stay calm. “I know that it’s not ideal for you to be… involved with someone who has this many issues, but… you hurt me tonight too. This isn’t exactly a one way street.”  
  
“I’m sorry, too, Quinn. I know it takes a lot for you to say these things and… I could have been much more diplomatic in my approach.” Rachel rolls all the way over so she’s facing Quinn. The room is still too dark to really see anything, other than the glow of the digital clock on Quinn’s nightstand. “But I keep watching you fixate on things… like my parents. Quinn, they like you. They like you a lot. They invited you to come to New York. They know we’re in… this… unlabeled relationship… and, yes, that means they probably realize that certain intimate details are a reality, but that’s likely the end of their thoughts and comments on the matter. You holding my hand in a busy part of town shouldn’t be a deal breaker.”  
  
Quinn shakes her head, even though Rachel likely can’t see it. “I just don’t know how to do any of this. It’s everything totally new all at once, and I’m sorry that I just don’t intrinsically know how to handle it.” She runs a hand through her hair just to have somewhere to put the nervous energy. “I mean, god. We have, what? Tomorrow and part of the next day? I feel like there’s a giant clock counting down over us, and it’s— it’s hard for me, okay?”   
  
“This is what I’m talking about, though. You decide it’s over before it actually is. Quinn, we have all day tomorrow to ourselves. Well, aside from brunch with my dads. But after that, it’s you, me, and New York.” Rachel carefully reaches through the darkness until she’s touching Quinn. The part she seems to have found is her upper arm and Rachel gives it a gentle squeeze. “I fully recognize that it’s not easy for you, I just want you to realize that I’m right here. I’ve been here the whole time.”  
  
Between Rachel’s words and her hand on Quinn’s bicep, Quinn feels her walls slowly coming down. She can’t tell if it’s the darkness or Rachel’s sincerity or the fact that Rachel is touching her, but whatever the reason, this is the effect that always seems to happen when they’re alone together. Under Rachel’s squeeze, Quinn automatically flexes her bicep and feels Rachel’s hand respond.   
  
“I want to put all of this aside. I really do. I know that we have a whole day left, and I’m ruining it. This should be a happy time for you, and I want you to remember it for the right reasons.” She flexes again. “I promise I’ll hold your hand tomorrow.”   
  
“You can start now, if you want.” Rachel’s thumb outlines the contour of Quinn’s bicep. “Thank you,” she says, “and I want it to be happy for you, too. It’s kind of what makes it fun for me.”  
  
“You know what would make me happy, right now? Holding you and maybe watching some tv? Unless you’re really hellbent on going to sleep at nine o’clock…”   
  
“I could possibly be persuaded to stay up until the ungodly hour of nine-thirty.” Rachel inches closer to Quinn, under the covers.  
  
When she feels Rachel scoot close enough, Quinn tugs and wraps and arm around Rachel’s back. This is how they’re meant to be, how they fit. Rachel is pressed into Quinn’s side, and Quinn feels the first relief she’s felt all night since she ruined the Broadway Walk. She’ll have to fix it tomorrow and photograph Rachel in front of her theatres. For now, though, having Rachel cuddled into her is enough.


	29. Sunday Funday: an interlude

Rachel’s been awake since four-thirty (one of the hazards of getting in bed by nine) and her first order of action is to drag Quinn out of bed so they can go up on the roof to watch the sunrise. The padlocked roof access door and the fact that sunrise isn’t due for another two hours leaves them cruising the nearby block for an authentic bagel shop, and by eight-fifteen, Rachel’s taking a catnap while Quinn showers.

When Quinn steps out of the bathroom, rubbing at her hair with a towel, Rachel is curled on the bed and breathing deeply. She looks, for lack of a better word, adorable. Quinn doesn’t want to wake her, but also feels an uncontrollable urge to touch, so she sits on the edge of the bed and smooths her thumb over Rachel’s hair with one hand, while she dries her own with the other.   
  
The dip in the mattress is enough to stir Rachel from her light sleep. She blinks her eyes open to the sight of Quinn, with her towel dried hair, fresh-faced and even glowing a little from the recent shower. “Hi,” she says, offering up a lazy smile.  
  
“Hey,” Quinn answers softly, stroking Rachel’s hair with a little more purpose. “We have a few hours before we’re supposed to meet your dads…” She quirks an eyebrow. “I thought we could… have some alone time before it’s just you, me, and the city.” She leans down and presses a chaste kiss to Rachel’s lips.  
  
“We could…” Rachel mumbles, before resting her hand on the back of Quinn’s neck and holding her close. “If you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, I’m in complete agreement.” She leans back, just enough to gain eye contact. “You want to find a fire axe and break that padlock so we can get up on the roof. I have binoculars. I think we can see Patti Lupone’s apartment from here.”  
  
“I’m starting to think that you have some kind of serious firemen-related fantasies,” Quinn says, rolling onto the bed so that she’s pressed up against Rachel. “But, fine. If you want to go breaking and entering onto some hotel roof, I’m sure I can probably find some way of entertaining myself…”   
  
“My next order of business was to get the fire hose and flood the hall so we can re-enact scenes from James Cameron’s Titanic. But…” Rachel’s arm drapes over Quinn and her fingers trace over the thick plush hotel towel that’s wrapped around her. “I may have just entirely forgotten what I was talking about.”  
  
Quinn laughs, a throaty, rumbly laugh. “As long as I get to be Kate Winslet.” She traces her fingers down Rachel’s neck and watches as brown eyes follow over curves hidden by terry cloth. There’s a smirk that Quinn can’t hide. She’d be lying if she said that she didn’t enjoy watching Rachel react to her body. “Entirely forgotten?” She drops her voice as low as she can in Rachel’s ear and traces a very tan collarbone.   
  
“Hey, I want to be— I…” Rachel’s entire train of thought is derailed (or ship is sunk, given their currently abandoned topic) and she whimpers as her eyes involuntarily drift shut in response to Quinn’s voice. “… I don’t remember,” she says. Her smile is content and her arm pulls more tightly around Quinn.  
  
Quinn hums in approval and presses herself closer. Their breath is the same, their noses rubbing lightly against one another. She’s always had self-control issues around Rachel, and now is no exception. There is no earthly way to stop herself from the “I want you” that’s all she can think about, and when she finally says it, it sounds so good that she says it again immediately after.   
  
Rachel winds up with a handful of towel as she says, “You already have me, Quinn.” She eliminates the already almost non-existent space between their lips and kisses her, then again, and again. While they spent all of last night wrapped up in each other, this is the first time they’ve really been alone and in a frame of mind to actually be together like this.  
  
Rachel’s words, coupled with her kisses, break something inside of Quinn, and she whines against Rachel’s mouth softly. Her hand is still busy, touching Rachel’s collarbone, skating up and down her ribs, exploring Rachel’s body. The few times they’ve been together like this is just not enough, and Quinn needs to learn more.   
  
She grazes Rachel’s lip with her tongue and the second Rachel’s mouth opens, Quinn is tasting everything she can. When she feels Rachel’s tongue against hers, she squeezes with her hand and goes back to exploring.   
  
“You’re such an incredible kisser,” she mumbles against those intoxicating lips before kissing them deeply again.   
  
As with any of her talents, the compliment pushes Rachel to excel even further. She twists her body and rolls on top of Quinn, legs entwined together. “Helps to have an equally skilled partner,” she murmurs, before moving in for more.  
  
She loves this: Kissing Quinn on a lazy Sunday morning. She doesn’t let herself reflect on the fact that this is a one-time engagement, at least for a while.   
  
The way that Rachel is pushing against her just so is absolutely perfect and she sends a hand down Rachel’s back to rake her nails across the skin there. “I love the way you feel,” she says, and kisses her way down to Rachel’s neck. She sucks lightly and touches everywhere she can, including the swell of Rachel’s ass. Whenever they kiss, it’s the one area she can’t seem to keep her hands off.   
  
Rachel wants this every morning, or at least multiple times a week. She wants to be able to feel Quinn’s hand on her, to be able stretch out over her (or under her, depending), to be able to hear Quinn’s breath catch she Rachel shifts against her, just so.   
  
“Me too,” is all she manages to say, because her mouth is otherwise occupied.  
  
“Rachel,” Quinn manages. She feels broken, in the best way. She’s aware only of Rachel’s skin and breath and the slight weight pressing down on her body, all the way down. “Rach,” she tries again, “touch me.”  
  
She doesn’t even care where. She just know that she needs Rachel’s hands on her body.   
  
Already, Rachel’s snaking her hands under the towel, which ultimately falls open, because neither of them are taking any care to keep it closed around Quinn. She kisses Quinn’s neck as she cups a breast, doing her best to apply the kind of pressure Quinn always seems to want from her.  
  
“We haven’t done this since that day after paintball,” she recalls. Has it really been more than a week?  
  
Quinn sucks in a breath. “That day was—” She’s starting to lose control, and that includes her voice. She tries again. “You were so sexy that day.” She adjusts her weight— and Rachel’s weight on top of her— letting her towel fall open more and urging Rachel with her hands to move against her body. “You’re so sexy now.”   
  
All Rachel can think about it the way Quinn made her feel and how intense everything was that afternoon and now she’s set on making Quinn feel the same way. Her thigh slips up higher, pressing against nothing but Quinn, warm against her own skin, because the towel is now entirely abandoned.   
  
There are no words anymore, not for Quinn. She closes her eyes and arches, tipping her head back as far as it will go and grasping desperately at Rachel. They’re moving together now, and Quinn can’t help but gasp each time Rachel’s thigh comes in contact with her.   
  
This is the first time Quinn has ever been this exposed, and she can’t even properly feel the magnitude of this step for the two of them because Rachel is taking control now and the only job Quinn has in this world is to let her.   
  
“Is it all right if I want to…” Rachel drops her hand to Quinn’s hip and squeezes, before trailing her fingers to where the two of them are currently pressed together. She’s fairly positive about what Quinn’s answer will be, but given the nature of their argument last night, she wants to be sure.  
  
“Yes,” Quinn tells her, still arching, still trying to bring Rachel further into her. “Yes, please.” She’s going to die if she doesn’t get some kind of relief soon. “I need you.”  
  
Rachel replaces the generic friction of her thigh with the direct contact of her fingers and she’s entranced with the expressions Quinn’s making, in tandem with the increased short and heavy breaths she’s taking in.  
  
“I told you, you have me,” she says, experimenting with the agility of her fingertips as she continues to watch Quinn.  
  
“Baby— more.” Quinn can no longer contain her urgency. Rachel has the ability to reduce her to begging with just a few minutes of touching. She runs a hand through Rachel’s hair and falls open just a little wider, desperate for as much contact as possible.  
  
The groan that escapes her can’t be stopped. Rachel’s already hooked on touching Quinn and the begging is just making her grind against Quinn’s leg, needing momentary relief. She’ll give Quinn anything she wants, right now, and judging from the way Quinn’s hips jerk up off the bed, Rachel’s chosen wisely.  
  
“You’re incredible,” she whispers, her mouth on Quinn’s ear.  
  
“Rach!” Between Rachel’s words and her fingers and her grinding against Quinn, Quinn is overcome with pleasure. “Please don’t stop.” She almost has no voice; it’s all she can do to just let Rachel have her way.   
  
It’s times like this that Quinn is overwhelmed with Rachel’s body. The way she’s grinding against her, the way her arm muscles ripple as she thrusts against Quinn. She’s everywhere at once, it seems, and Quinn has never felt better in her life. Quinn grasps a muscular bicep and holds fast.   
  
The words ‘sexy’ and ‘beautiful’ are among the ones Rachel now murmurs, her mouth brushing against the span of skin under Quinn’s ear. Meanwhile her fingers are slick and warm with Quinn and she continues to be encouraged by the sounds and movements Quinn makes beneath her.  
  
Quinn only lasts a few more minutes. She honestly can’t help it. Rachel is so amazing, and she’s so focused on what she’s doing that Quinn gets completely caught up in it. After a particularly hard thrust on Rachel’s part, Quinn tenses everywhere and grinds herself down harder on Rachel’s fingers. Her exhales turn into yeses and then she’s shaking and holding onto Rachel like she’ll save her from drowning.   
  
“Oh my god,” she says as she comes down. “Oh my god…”  
  
When Rachel takes in the sight of Quinn unraveled, disheveled, and sated, there’s one particular thought that comes to mind. “You’re perfect.” She knows full well there are plenty of arguments against what she’s just said, but in this moment, with her skin flushed and hair splayed across the pillow, her chest rising and falling as she attempts to catch her breath, Quinn Fabray is a picture of absolute perfection.  
  
“Rach… come here…” Quinn’s body is still buzzing, still shaking. She pulls at Rachel’s neck, pulls her down into a kiss. She doesn’t have the strength to disagree, can’t find it in herself to argue or to point out the many times she’s made Rachel cry. She can’t, so she kisses her instead.   
  
Rachel’s content with the kissing, at least momentarily. There’s nothing part of her wants to do more than just throw her skirt and blouse on the floor and let Quinn keep her in bed for the rest of the day, but they have other plans that are equally as important as their bedroom activities.  
  
“Hey,” she says, softly, dipping back down for another kiss before pushing herself up, out of kissing range. “I need to freshen up and you… need to get dressed.” Before Quinn can protest, she adds, “I promise you, we will pick this back up later tonight.”  
  
Quinn surges up and presses another kiss to Rachel’s mouth. “If you promise.”  
  
Rachel isn’t the only one who needs to freshen up, really, but Quinn pulls her clothes out of her suitcase anyway and does as Rachel asks. She’s less than thrilled that she doesn’t get to return the favor, but they do have the whole day together, and they’ve got to meet Rachel’s dads for brunch.   
  
When they meet Hiram and Leroy down in the lobby, Rachel’s already buzzing again with the energy of the city (along with her nap and her ‘quality time’ with Quinn).  
  
Hiram greets them with a “Good morning, ladies. Quinn, I hope you’re feeling better this morning.” He and Leroy are well aware that something must have happened between Quinn and Rachel last night, otherwise the Broadway Walk wouldn’t have come to such an abrupt halt. Whatever happened, neither of the girls are showing any signs of any kind of upset.  
  
“I feel… very well, thank you,” Quinn says with a conscious effort to avoid eye contact with Rachel. She does, however, reach for Rachel’s hand and slide her own into it. She promised last night, after all, and it’s the least she can do after— well, after Rachel was so willing to put everything behind them. What’s a little hand holding? She squeezes lightly and then asks, “So… brunch?”  
  
Two hours later, it’s just after noon and Rachel’s walking hand-in-hand with Quinn through Times Square, once again. As much as she doesn’t want to dwell on the previous night’s argument, she likes that she’s already making memories in New York City. “I’m sorry my dads kept grinning at you like that through the entire meal.”  
  
“It’s okay, Rach. Really. I’ve been saying that I want them to like me.” They’re in Times Square, and Quinn is reminded of her fantasy of kissing Rachel here. She tugs on Rachel’s hand. “Hey… Stop a minute? I have something I want to give you.” There’s a tiny velvet box in her bag, and she pulls at the zipper and fishes it out. “I’m… so proud of you, and I wanted— I know you won’t forget where you’re from, but I wanted you to have… well, just open it.”   
  
She has no idea why she’s so nervous, but when Rachel takes the box from her and opens it, she adds, “I thought… you can wear the Ohio one and I could wear the New York one. Just— as a reminder of the summer.”  
  
Rachel isn’t quite sure what’s happening, at first, because the square is humming around her and there are cars honking and people talking and sounds coming from all of the businesses, but all she hears is Quinn talking about Ohio, New York, and the summer. She looks down at the box Quinn’s handed her and sees two simple necklaces, one in each shape of the two states that were just mentioned. There’s a small heart cut out of each of them and, despite Quinn’s recurring inability to want to regularly discuss her feelings, she’s saying so much with this gesture.  
  
“I love it,” she says. It’s simple, but it’s all that comes out as she stands there, right by the world famous intersection of Broadway and Seventh Avenue, with a token of Quinn’s affection in her hands.  
  
Quinn bites her lip. “You do? Can I…?” She motions at the box, and the smile that Rachel gives her is enough to make her stomach flutter. She takes Ohio, brushes Rachel’s hair aside, and clasps it around Rachel’s neck. They stand there together, with the city rushing by around them, and Quinn fiddling with the pendant against Rachel’s skin. “I was afraid that you would think it was…” She knows that she says it a lot to tease Rachel, but this isn’t a moment for teasing, and she lets her voice trail off.   
  
“I think it’s perfect,” Rachel says, smiling up at Quinn. “Will you be all right if I hug you out here?”  
  
“Yeah,” Quinn breathes and because it’s so noisy, she doesn’t want Rachel to miss it, so she pulls her into a hug without waiting. Having Rachel in her arms here of all places is the most perfect thing she can imagine. When Rachel pulls back, Quinn catches her lips in the softest, most tender kiss.   
  
This, right here, is the most memorable kiss of Rachel’s life and not just because it’s the most recent. The fact that Quinn is kissing her, in New York, in almost the same place they had one of their biggest arguments, gives Rachel feelings of hope and promise for whatever lies ahead.  
  
“Thank you,” she says, tightening her arms in another hug.  
  
“Thank you for the best summer of my life.” Quinn holds Rachel for a moment longer before pulling back and lacing their fingers together again. It buys her just enough time to clear her eyes of the tears forming there. “So. Broadway Walk? I brought my camera.”


	30. Where Do We Go From Here?

It’s official. Rachel lives in New York.

All of her important belongings are tucked away in one half of a dorm room in Greenwich Village, her mail has to be sent to the zip code 10011, and she can now officially refer to Central Park as the backyard she shares with a few million neighbors.  
  
Quinn, however, still lives in Lima and in about an hour, she’s due to board a train to Jersey so she can catch a flight out of Newark and back to Ohio. For the moment, she and Rachel are sitting across from each other in a diner, a block away from Penn Station, sipping coffee while Hiram and Leroy wander through Macy’s.  
  
“I wish you could stay longer. But I know you can’t miss work. And, I’ll be busy with orientation, anyway.” Rachel waves off the waitress who offers a refill, because she definitely doesn’t need it. “I hope everyone’s as welcoming as Charity’s been.”  
  
Quinn quirks an eyebrow. Charity. She’s bubbly and overzealous and perky and basically everything that Quinn is not. She and Rachel clicked right away, and— outside of one brief altercation in the bathroom— Quinn did her best to avoid the entire situation, choosing instead to focus on bringing Rachel’s things up to her room. She hates the thought of leaving anyway, it’s killing her inside, actually, but leaving Rachel to Charity is just—   
  
“I wish I could stay, too, Rach,” Quinn says, and even though she’s itching to hold Rachel’s hand, she doesn’t. This is hard enough. “You know if you have trouble sleeping or if you just want to talk, you can call me, right?” It sounds horribly lame, but it’s really the only thing she has to offer, at this point. How can she possibly compete with New York?  
  
“I know. I can call you and Skype you and text you and email you and reply to your blog posts… The world isn’t really as big as it used to be, apparently,” Rachel says, recalling the conversation she had with Leroy before they left Lima. “Quinn…” She pushes her napkin aside and leans in over the table. “We could try this. It isn’t as crazy as we’ve made it out to sound. People do it all the time. You know how I feel about you and…” Her fingers toy with the new necklace that hangs around her neck. “… we’ve come so far. With everything.”  
  
Quinn has never seen Rachel’s eyes shine quite like this before. Not even last night when she was so taken with New York. She can’t decide whether to gaze into them or to watch the nimble fingers tracing over the silver Ohio around her neck. Those eyes… Quinn focuses on the necklace, which is somehow just as painful. She’s leaving. More than that, she’s leaving Rachel alone here with a whole city— her city, a city that doesn’t remotely belong to Quinn.   
  
Rachel’s words are still echoing in her mind. “We could try this… we’ve come so far…” It feels like Rachel is asking for the entire world, and Quinn would give it to her if she could. She wants to give it to her. It just isn’t hers to give.  
  
She tries to think, to see them together, really together, with Rachel here and Quinn in Ohio. She wants it to be able to work, to be easy. To be foolproof. She wants to know that she won’t hurt Rachel, that she won’t get hurt in return. Even in her imagination… it’s impossible. It’s too hard. There’s too much distance. They’ve already hurt each other so much.  
  
There is someone here— maybe a hundred people, even— who could fall for Rachel if she just gave them a chance. She’s on the threshold of the whole world, and all she has to do is step through it. And Quinn feels like the only thing she can do is grasp at Rachel’s sleeve and beg her to stay. It isn’t fair to Rachel, and it isn’t fair to her.   
  
It isn’t. She wants Rachel and Rachel wants New York, and it isn’t fucking fair.  
  
But it’s the choice she must make. She’s a Fabray. And Fabrays hold their heads high. They walk the path they must walk. There are exactly two truly good things that have happened to her in her eighteen years of life, and she’s had to let both of them go.  
  
When she finally has the courage to tear her eyes away from the Ohio that’s catching the sunlight through the diner window, they’re brimming with tears.   
  
“Rachel.” She has no idea how to say what she needs to say. There is a world of pain inside of her, and if she can just be strong enough, she can get through this. “This has been… the best summer of my life. What we’ve shared has been… amazing, and I just—” Quinn purses her lips. “You don’t need someone back home holding you back while you’re trying to move forward. And I don’t have anything to offer you, I—” The look on Rachel’s face fills Quinn with more pain than she ever thought she could experience, short of losing a child. “I meant it when I said that you can call me if you get scared or lonely or— I’ll still be here for you. I just think… you should be able to accept dates when you’re asked and go to parties and— and meet people…” Quinn has always known that she’s not a good person, but in this moment it’s more clear to her than it ever has been. The expression on Rachel’s face is just too much for her to bear. She looks down and whispers, “I’m sorry.”   
  
After everything, their summer, after that night in the tent and that afternoon after paintball, after their nights under the stars, after this weekend, after yesterday and last night — after all of that, Quinn is still sitting across from her at a table in a coffee shop, telling her why they can’t be together.  
  
“Did I do something?” Rachel tries to keep her voice steady as she stares at the spoon that rests on the saucer under her cup.  
  
“Rach, no. This isn’t about— anything other than you starting your life in New York.” Quinn wants to tell her that she’s never been happier. She wants to say that Rachel makes her feel like she can actually be someone. She wants to take her in her arms and promise that everything will be fine, that they’ll be okay.   
  
But she can’t. She can’t because she doesn’t know.   
  
“I still want us to talk. We can…” Quinn swallows down her tears. “We can be friends.”  
  
“Of course.” Rachel does her best to remain stone-faced, to cling to her resolve, because she doesn’t want to have to explain any of this to her dads when they show up to accompany Quinn to her train. “That’s what we agreed, so… We’ll just… be friends.”  
  
She wants to argue, to tell Quinn she’s being an idiot. But she can’t muster up the energy to do it, because she’s suddenly so tired, as if the summer has exhausted her.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Quinn says again because, really, there’s nothing left to say.  
  
All Rachel can bring herself to say is, “I know.”


	31. Alone Again at Thirty Thousand Feet

The plane is full. Quinn is squished against the window by an enormous man in a scratchy tweed jacket, the kind with faux leather elbow pads, and it’s honestly fine because he feels like a buffer to the rest of the world. She doesn’t even care that the window is probably covered in germs, it feels cool against her forehead. She pretends like she doesn’t want to check her phone for messages and waits for takeoff. 

It’s so hot in the cabin. It’s hot, and the man next to her is breathing like he’s just run a marathon, and it doesn’t even help to close her eyes because when she does, the only thing she can see is Rachel asking her if she’s done something wrong. This feeling, this panic, is nothing new to her. It used to happen all of the time, before she and Rachel—  
  
She presses the heel of her hand hard into her eye until she sees lights behind it. She’s leaving New York. She’s leaving Rachel. It’s not… it’s not how she thought it would be. It’s felt empty so far, terribly empty, like she’s too tired to do anything but sit and stare, but now that she’s trapped in this seat…  
  
It’s so fucking hot.   
  
She’s going to suffocate right here on this plane and no one will even notice because they won’t be able to see past the enormous boulder that’s trapping her in. A boulder with faux elbow pads. Rachel would be happy that they’re not real leather, she thinks, and then she barks out a laugh because it’s so totally ridiculous to think that Rachel would even care about something like this right now. The man jerks his head in her direction. There’s a bead of sweat on his nose that could drop at any moment, and Quinn just looks back out the window at the tarmac.   
  
It takes them twenty eight minutes to taxi to the runway. Twenty eight minutes being trapped by sweat and tweed and expectations and the lack of a future. She tightens her hands into balls in her lap and wills herself not to panic.  
  
Once they’re in the air, and the fasten seat belt sign clicks off, Quinn is out of her seat, her hands still clenched tightly at her sides.   
  
“Excuse me,” she grits out, and the man in tweed looks completely lost, like he has no idea how to let her pass. “I just need to—” She motions to the aisle like it shouldn’t already be obvious where she’s headed, and his eyes widen as he sputters. The tears are coming now, and fast, and soon she’ll be sobbing in front of a cabin full of passengers, and she’ll be damned before she lets some whale in a cheap sport coat keep her from getting to the bathroom before she breaks. “Just move,” she hisses. “It’s not that hard.” And somehow, by half sliding past him, half climbing over him, she manages to get herself free and into the aisle.   
  
She gets the lavatory door slammed closed behind her before she collapses against it. Her face is in her hands, her tears running hot against her palms. She sucks in a terrible breath and shudders against the door.   
  
This isn’t how it’s supposed to go, crying alone in an airplane lavatory. She’s so sick of hurting, of wanting love. Of being afraid of everything all the time. She has worried about her future for years now, and she’s tired. She’s so tired.   
  
But it doesn’t stop the pain or the tears that come with it.   
  
There are so many thoughts whirling inside her head. So many images, most of them having to do with Rachel Berry. It was only for the summer, so both of them had something to do to pass the time. It was for comfort or pleasure or boredom. It was never supposed to be anything more. It was never supposed to hurt this much. She was never supposed to—  
  
Rachel will be happy. She’ll live her life, follow her dreams. She’ll be somebody. She’ll go to parties and make out with people when it means absolutely nothing to her. She’ll date. She’ll meet a leading man who sweeps her off her feet and then it will mean something. It will mean something and Rachel will—  
  
A sob wrenches itself free, and Quinn presses her hand more tightly against her mouth.   
  
God, it hurts.   
  
She wraps one hand around her waist and lets herself remember. She lets herself remember Rachel’s handwritten itinerary from the first book club meeting and the way Rachel hovered over it protectively like the entire enterprise would go to hell if something happened to it. She remembers Rachel running her fingers over all of the sheets in Sheets-N-Things without the slightest intent buy any of them. Research, Rachel had called it. Rachel begging with wide eyes for Quinn to set the squid free. Rescuing her in the pool. The way Rachel buries her face into Quinn’s shoulder when they’re watching a scary movie. The goldfish that is still swimming in a bowl on Quinn’s desk back in Ohio. That particular one brings another sob of anguish, because it brings with it the memory of the fair and what happened after, and Quinn is reaching up to wrap her hand around the New York pendant around her neck before sliding, sliding, all the way down, until she’s on the floor.   
  
There are other images now, images of Rachel in the woods, cracking off shot after shot with her paintball gun before getting blasted from all sides and shouting for Quinn to “save yourself!” Thoughts of Rachel gasping against her and arching up to meet Quinn’s fingers. Times when Rachel begged to be touched, and times when she begged to be the one touching.   
  
Quinn remembers everything. Everything she’ll never have again.   
  
And it’s her own doing.  
  
There’s a tap on the door, and Quinn sucks in her tears. “Occupied,” she says in a tight voice.   
  
“Is everything okay in here?”   
  
“Fine,” Quinn answers, and she’s on her feet, splashing water on her face. She’s had her cry and now it’s time to go back. To be trapped in once again. She squares her shoulders, yanks open the door, and breezes past the flight attendant like she’s never had a worry in her life.   
  
The redness of her eyes is the only indication that it’s a complete and utter lie.   
  
By the time her plane lands, she’s exhausted. She stands at the baggage claim to wait for her bag, and scrolls through her contacts. When she finds the number she wants, she touches her finger to it and waits for it to ring through to voice mail. It’s too late for Carolyn to be in her office, Quinn knows, but it’s just as well because she doesn’t really want to talk about it anyway.   
  
At the beep, Quinn says, “I ended it with Rachel,” and hangs up.  
  
The only thing left to do is to sit and wait for her mother to pick her up and take her back to Lima.


	32. Don't Drink Over Skype

Rachel feels great. She’s just attended her first college party and it was better than she could have imagined. It wasn’t a brazen, obnoxious kegger like the ones in movies (or Puck’s basement). It was an elegant evening with fellow performers.

And a huge bowl of party punch.   
  
Charity’s proven to be the best roommate ever, having walked Rachel back to her room, all the way to bed, before heading back out to level her bets on Victor and Landon (whether one or both are straight). But Rachel doesn’t feel like sleeping.  
  
She misses Quinn. She also knows it’s not wise to drink and dial. Or text.  
  
Instead, she boots up her laptop and checks her email, then reviews her blog. When her Skype application chimes to let her know Quinn’s online, she doesn’t think, she just double clicks.  
  
It’s dark in Quinn’s room, and she’s snuggled in bed, checking her facebook when Rachel’s chime sounds. It’s late— later than Rachel is normally up, and her first instinct is that something is wrong. She clicks to answer, squints in the soft glow of her laptop, and says, “Rach? What are you doing up this late? Is everything okay?”  
  
“Quinn!” Rachel exclaims, as soon as she hears the voice through her speakers. “You should get on… turn on the video…” Her speech isn’t quite slurred, but she’s definitely drunk. “Wait, I’ll do it first.” It takes her a few seconds to maneuver the pointer with the touch pad, but she activates her own webcam and waits for Quinn to do the same.  
  
Quinn does as she’s told and the first thought in her brain is that she didn’t think she’d be talking to Rachel again like this so soon. The second thought is more of a heart palpitation because even through a computer monitor Rachel looks gorgeous, and the third is, “Rachel, are you drunk?”   
  
“We went to a party. Quinn, it was so much fun and we played improv games and everyone is so good, but then we also had party punch and that just made everyone even better.” Rachel shakes her head. “I’m not drunk. Just… a little spinny.” She closes her eyes for a moment. “I miss you.”  
  
Quinn hums. A drunk Rachel Berry is an adorable Rachel Berry. But things are still broken between them, and she hasn’t forgotten. She’s the one that broke them. “I’m glad you had fun at the party,” Quinn says softly. She tries not to wonder what kind of fun Rachel had exactly. It’s one of the reasons she let Rachel go in the first place. She’s not sure if Rachel is quite drunk enough for this, but she says it anyway. “I miss you too, Rach.”  
  
Rachel smiles at her laptop screen and taps her fingers against the image of Quinn’s face. “We played this game that was like Spin the Bottle and we had a spinning bottle but when it… when it stopped, you and the spinner had to act out a scene.” She pushes her laptop aside and stands up so she can pull off her dress. There’s absolutely no sense of internet etiquette as she tosses the garment aside and pads over to her dresser. “Oh!” She glances back toward the computer, not even caring if the camera is actually pointing at her, right now, even though she’s only in her underwear. “And I’m the president of the… um… the… what did we call it? Oh! The Early Risers Workout Club.” And then she’s back to her drawer, digging around for something that’s more comfortable than what she’s already removed.  
  
Rachel is in her underwear before Quinn even realizes that she’s changing, and Quinn lowers her eyes as soon as she can, but not before she’s seen everything. This is skin she’s touched, skin she’s tasted, and it’s not right for her to look anymore, not after everything she’s put Rachel through. It isn’t fair to Rachel, and it is isn’t good for Quinn.   
  
“What kind of scenes?” Quinn asks, trying to keep her eyes on her keyboard. It isn’t easy when she knows that Rachel is nearly naked right in front of her.   
  
“Scenes that we make up. Like on…” Rachel waves one hand in the air, as if it will aid in her recollection. “Whose Line Is It, Anyway? Everyone else gives… the thing… the topic…” Finally, she produces Quinn’s hoodie and pulls it on over herself. She doesn’t bother with any kind of pants or shorts, because all she wants to do is get back in her bed. “It’s fun. I like it. A lot of the drama students are fun. But not the Comp Majors. They’re bitches.” It’s already something of a running joke between herself and Charity, along with a few of the other friends they’ve made over the last couple days.  
  
“Comp Majors? What makes them bitches?” Quinn raises her eyebrows. “Is that my McKinley hoodie?”  
  
“Composition. And…” Rachel shrugs. “I don’t know, they’re just… bitchy.” She wrinkles up her nose. “They’re so serious.” There’s a glance down at the sweatshirt and she wraps her arms around herself. “Yeah, it is. I packed it up and now it’s here in New York, keeping me cozy.”  
  
“I can’t believe you stole my favorite hoodie,” Quinn says pointedly. She’s trying to sound pissed, but she really thinks Rachel looks good in it, and for some reason, the idea that Rachel has that part of her in New York is comforting somehow. “Or that you think an entire group of people are bitchy because they’re so serious. Rachel, you color-coded your boxes and tagged them with index cards that listed the entire inventory of each one.”  
  
“I didn’t steal it!” Rachel’s eyes are wide as she goes on the defensive. “It was abandoned and I claimed it. And traveled across state lines. Although technically, you were traveling with it, so it wasn’t a shirt-napping. And I…” She pokes at her own chest. “I am organ-anized and… and prepared… but I’m not bitchy. They’re, like,” Rachel narrows her eyes and scowls at the webcam. “This.”  
  
Quinn can’t help but laugh. Rachel’s scowl is a lot more menacing when she isn’t drunk. “Honestly, Rachel, it’s August. Aren’t you burning up?”   
  
“No. It’s cold in here.” Rachel lies down on her pillow and pulls the laptop closer. “When do you go to Chicago? I know you’re going. You have to go. Otherwise the contest is rigged. I would know. I stuffed a ballot box, before.” She sits up, slightly. “Oh my god, remember when I got suspended?”  
  
“Yes, Rachel, I do remember that,” Quinn says. She purses her lips. Maybe this is more than she should say, but… “I remember a lot of things.”   
  
She suddenly feels like crying. Life shouldn’t be this hard when you’re eighteen.   
  
Rachel relaxes back onto the bed. “Me, too.” Again, she traces her fingers across her screen. In the morning, she’ll be annoyed at all the fingerprints left on the monitor, but for now, she doesn’t care.  
  
“I’m glad you’re having fun.” Quinn’s voice is soft, and maybe it’s just the darkness, but she feels closer to Rachel right now than she thought was possible so soon after the way things ended. “Even if you did steal my sweatshirt.”   
  
“How’s Patrick?” Rachel asks. Her eyelid are getting droopy, but she does her best to keep them open.  
  
“Patrick is good. See?” Quinn turns her laptop so that Rachel can see the goldfish floating low in the water. “He’s sleeping. I think. I really know nothing about goldfish. I’m shocked he’s still alive. Are you allowed to have pets at NYADA? Besides your roommate, I mean.”  
  
Rachel waves to the webcam. “Hi, Patrick! Um, I’m not sure. Maybe we can have fish? The handbook actually wasn’t clear.” She sighs. “And Charity is nice. You should like her.”  
  
“Yeah, I’m sure she’s nice, Rach. I remember when you were genuinely worried about who your roommate would be, and I’m glad that you guys get along so well. That’s…” Quinn thinks about her words carefully. “Really great for you. Do you see Kurt much?”  
  
“I didn’t the first day, yesterday and today we had to be at the same events. And tomorrow. He didn’t stay long at the party, though.” Rachel pulls the hood up over her head. “He misses Blaine.”  
  
“How is that… working for them? Kurt being in New York and Blaine being here?” This is obviously a topic that Quinn would definitely like to hear more about.   
  
“It’s only been a few days, but… I guess it’s working out. Kurt says they have a schedule for Skype.” Rachel’s brow furrows as she considers something Kurt said to her. “And… I’m just now thinking maybe it’s sexy Skyping…” She studies her screen and notices something. “Hey… what happened to you?” she asks, pressing her finger to the screen where Quinn’s bandaged wrist was just briefly in frame.  
  
“Hmm?” Quinn glances at her wrist. “Oh, I… it’s nothing. I burnt myself on a cookie sheet. And I don’t need to hear about Kurt and Blaine’s sexcapades. I was just wondering if they’re doing okay being so far apart.”  
  
“You promise you’re okay?” Rachel asks. She doesn’t care about the sexcapades, either.  
  
“You’re the one we’re worried about being okay, remember?” Quinn reminds her softly. The last thing she needs is a spotlight on how broken she is. Too late, it dawns on her what Rachel means. “Oh, the burn? Yeah, I’m fine.”  
  
“Good,” there’s a nod before Rachel backtracks. “Blaine and Kurt will be fine. They love each other.”  
  
“And that’s really all it takes? Love?” This is a dangerous topic, but it’s too late to take it back. She can only hope that Rachel is too far gone to really latch on.  
  
Rachel shrugs with one shoulder, since she’s lying on the other one. “It’s a good place to start, I think.”  
  
“Well, you’ll have to let me know how that goes,” Quinn says dryly.   
  
“I keep trying to.”  
  
Quinn rolls her eyes. “I’m just saying we should see when some time passes if they’re still wildly in love, with one of them there and one of them here.”   
  
“No, that’s not…” Rachel shakes her head and sighs, with a little too much force. “I meant the part where I love you. Not them. They’ll… they’re… Blaine and Kurt…”  
  
It’s somewhere in between happiness and bitterness, hearing that Rachel loves her. She’s always wanted that kind of love but at the same time, it’s the kind of love that is killing her. She toys absently with the bandage on her wrist.   
  
“Rachel… you’re drunk…”  
  
“So? You think I’m just saying it because of that? I think it all the time, Quinn. I just never know how you’re going to react to anything. Even when I think everything’s okay, I don’t know what I should say, sometimes because then you just change your mind and I… I want to be mad at you but then you’re not even here. And then I want to be mad that you’re not even here, but then I miss you.” Tomorrow, when Rachel realizes she had this conversation with a hood around her head and no pants on, she’ll be embarrassed, but tonight, in the moment, she has no shame. “So, yes, Quinn Fabray, I love you and you’ll just have to deal with that, all the way over in Lima. And I know we’re just supposed to be friends, but guess what? I can love my friends however I want because they’re my friends.”  
  
“Rach. I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t mean anything by it.” Quinn wonders how she manages to turn everything good in her life into something negative. Not like Rachel, who always sees the good in everything, who doesn’t understand the meaning of the word no. “Are you going to be be okay tonight? You won’t feel very well in the morning.”  
  
“Charity made sure I have water. And… which side are you supposed to sleep on to feel better?” Rachel closes her eyes to focus on the recollection. “Left. The left. I’ll sleep on the left.”  
  
“Okay, Rach. I’m— really glad you called.”  
  
“I wasn’t going to, at first. I didn’t know… but I’m glad I did, too.”  
  
This part is less sure, for Quinn at least, but she needs to put it out there anyway. “You can anytime. You always can. I know things are different now, but I do miss you. Like crazy.”  
  
Rachel nods. “Give Patrick a hug for me.” She yawns and it’s clear that she should probably go to sleep. “Goodnight. Oh, and Quinn, if you really want this sweatshirt back? Come and get it.”


	33. Two Twin Beds and a Whole Lotta Talk

It’s been a pretty lazy morning, even by Charity’s standards. She woke up at some ungodly hour with a killer headache, dragged herself down to the first floor for emergency pancakes, and crawled back into bed. At one point, Rachel left the room with a Magic Bullet in her hand and came back with a smoothie— this is like voodoo magic, as far as Charity is concerned— but as the afternoon drags on, they’re pretty much just sitting in silence on their beds.

She tries to mind her own business. Really she does. But all of a sudden Rachel keeps taking out her phone and sighing, like someone just reminded her that puppies grow up and become dogs. And die.

“Okay, that’s it,” she says, half to herself, before sitting up and looking across the room. “Can we talk?”

“Of course we can,” Rachel says, not looking up from her laptop. She’s been up since ten and her headache finally dissipated after her Advil and smoothie cocktail. The last few hours have been spent reviewing the syllabus for one of her classes and looking at the trail of destruction she left across the face of her own tumblr. It really isn’t that bad, but it certainly isn’t an ideal kickoff to her first week at college.

“No, I mean…” Charity trails off, frustrated. She’s tried, so far, to avoid asking about Quinn. It’s clear that, whatever the situation is, it’s pretty raw for Rachel, and she doesn’t want to make it worse. But the only conversation she’s ever had with Quinn Fabray involved being cornered in the gender neutral bathroom and being told, point blank, ‘I don’t like you,’ which has never happened to her before in her life. She knows she’s on Team Rachel, but if that means learning to like this chick… well. She just wants the whole story, is all. “Can I, like. Have your eyes?”

“Oh,” Rachel immediately looks up, then back down as she shuts her computer and sets is aside. “Sorry. Whatever you need to talk about, I’m listening.” She’s changed out of her wardrobe from the previous evening, meaning she’s now wearing her ‘kittens in a canoe’ t-shirt and a pair of yoga pants.

Charity scratches idly at the back of her neck. “I’m not trying to pry, but… I think last night was kind of a marker of how things can get out of hand, and I feel like I’m flying blind here. I’ve had more attention thrown on my personal life in the past week than I have in the past year, and the thing is, no one even cares about it. They care about what I might do to you. It’s not a complaint, really—rude people are always going to be rude—but it’s just… shit, Smallville. It’s kind of hard to defend you when I don’t know whose side I’m supposed to be on.” She frowns thoughtfully. “Of course, asking you about your personal life so that I can properly tell other people to stop asking about your personal life is a little hypocritical, but… we’re friends, aren’t we?” She runs a hand through her hair, pushing her bangs back and letting them fall into place again. “I guess it’s just a really long way for me to ask you for The Ballad of Rachel and Quinn. … You can even deliver it in ballad form, if you like.”

While Charity speaks, Rachel plays with her phone before setting it aside so she can resist the urge to reply to any texts that might come through. “I don’t think I ever said anything about Quinn that would make you assume we’re… ballad worthy.” But she knows Charity isn’t blind, nor is she incapable of picking up context clues. “Obviously, though, you’ve… noticed.” She sighs, because it gives her a few bonus seconds of not talking.

“She signed up for an eight hour road trip for the privilege of lugging your furniture around. Even if I weren’t being, um… well, kind of harassed by anonymous assholes on the internet, I’d think something ballad-y was going on. But people seem to think that…” She doesn’t know how to do this. She and Rachel aren’t close yet, but she wants to be, and this is just so awkward. “I’m not trying to assume anything. But that’s why I’m asking you. Because I’m not used to being looked at like a moustache-twirling villain. And… and maybe you’ve seemed kind of down, lately.”

“I’m sorry you’ve already been introduced to the creepier portion of my fan base,” Rachel says, genuinely apologetic. “Quinn and I are… were… she’s the one I mentioned in my email. The part about having a summer agreement with someone?” It’s definitely personal and she’s only known Charity, in person, for a few days, but they’re set to room together for the next nine months, give or take, and they’re going to witness plenty about each other’s lives. Her eyes close as she rubs a hand over her forehead. “Things were looking hopeful between us and now they aren’t.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know how to phrase this without being incredibly rude, but… why?” It sounds harsh even to her own ears. She softens: “Did Quinn… tell you that she talked to me? On Monday?”

“Why what? Why aren’t we or why were we?” Rachel asks. “I… I think she mentioned something, but we haven’t really had a real conversation, at least not while both parties were sober, since she broke up with me after move-in, so…” She realizes what she’s just said and shakes her head. “I mean, she… you have to be dating to break up and we weren’t, but… the concept is the same, I suppose.”

She was asking why were they, because Rachel seems to be just about the nicest person on the planet whereas Quinn comes off more… heinous bitch… but Rachel just looks so incredibly sad that she can’t bring herself to push the issue. “This is… can I go over there and join you?” she asks instead. Having the room between them feels stupid to her, and she doesn’t know about Rachel, but she’s a hugger. She wants to have the option.

Rachel nods and scoots closer to her laptop to make room for Charity. “I know this all has to sound absolutely outrageous, but there’s so much you don’t know.” She manages to laugh as she recalls, “My high school boyfriend proposed to me earlier this year. That’s just one of many plot points in The Rachel Berry Story.”

“So tell me,” Charity says as she climbs onto Rachel’s bed and gets comfortable, then pauses. “Wait. The beard?” At Rachel’s rather alarmed expression, she backtracks. “Sorry, that was… sorry. It’s just, this is Kurt’s step-brother, right? Because you mentioned the boyfriend, and then you got really specific about not using gendered pronouns, and then I met Kurt, and I kind of… well. Assumed. Which was stupid. But wait, he proposed?”

Rachel isn’t even sure where to begin with all of Charity’s questions. “Finn is Kurt’s step-brother, yes. But he’s not gay. He’s very, very straight. Also tolerant and supportive. Usually.” She sighs, again, thinking about Finn being Finn. “But he was my actual boyfriend on and off for two years. Things were getting serious between us and he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with his life because of… well, because he never set out to make anything his own. And so, he proposed. And that’s also why I said no.”

“So you’re… bi? Pan? Quinn-sexual?” She shakes her head at herself. “It doesn’t matter, it’s just—well. Landon’s bi. Found that out last night.” She waggles her eyebrows, hoping to make Rachel laugh.

“I could have told you that. He can’t stop looking at my boobs whenever we’re in the fitness center. Though, it took me two days to figure out it wasn’t the gay male boob stare of appreciation. It was just a general one.” Charity’s request for a label has Rachel thinking, but that’s something that Rachel hasn’t really settled on and she isn’t sure if she ever will. “I’m… hung up on her. That’s all I can say, really.”

“Look, I know I’m pretty new to this, but—take it from an impartial observer? She’s definitely hung up on you.” Charity doesn’t want to go into the details of just what Quinn threatened to do to her if she caught wind that Rachel was in any way unsatisfied with her rooming situation, but… well. You don’t get all scary like that for someone you’re not super into, she knows that much. “But what does this have to do with Finn? It’s not like he dated her, too.” Her jaw drops at Rachel’s suddenly guilty expression. “No.”

“That actually didn’t have anything to do with why I brought him up. But, yes. We’ve both dated him. She was his girlfriend first, actually.” It’s hard for her to picture the two of them together, now. “And then he dated me, then broke up with me. Then we got back together, and then we broke up and he dated her, again. And then, after our first trip to show choir nationals here in New York, we got back together. The more I talk about this out loud, the more it sounds like a bad soap opera.”

“Yeah, it… really, really does. So neither of you… were with a girl before this?” Charity thinks that might explain a lot, but she wants to be sure.

Rachel shakes her head. “Finn was my first… well, everything. But Quinn and I have had this… history… ever since freshman year. We’ve always been around each other, but this summer was the first time we really put serious effort into a friendship.”

“Well, I’d say you passed that with flying colors. And then some. But how did that even happen? Like… I had this sort of on-again, off-again thing with this kid Chad— and I’ll tell you the whole saga later so we’re even, and you can… well, make fun of me for dating a guy named Chad— but if one of his exes tried to be BFF with me, the last thing on my mind would be macking on her.” She frowns. “I mean, I’m straight, but… if it were an option, I still don’t see how it could be… an option.”

“We were all in the same glee club and in a lot of the same classes. It wasn’t like we only knew each other through Finn. Quinn and I used to… interact… before I even really got a chance to know him.” That’s certainly glossing over a lot, but this is already complicated enough without getting into the messy details of the McKinley hierarchy. “She was head cheerleader and I kind of always wanted a chance to try and be friends with her. Some things happened and being in glee club was the one thing that kept a lot of us going at one point or another, not just out of the three of us, but all of the New Directions.” Rachel rubs her fingertips over the slightly raised lettering on her wrist. “Quinn and I have been though a lot, just in high school. Even though we weren’t close we had our moments. Part of this summer was realizing what those moments meant.”

“So, you think maybe you always had a thing for her?” Charity’s eyes automatically follow the movement of Rachel’s hands, and she notes, not for the first time, the fact that her friend has ink. “Is that… does she have something to do with, um. With getting it right?”

“Hmmm?” Rachel looks to where Charity’s eyes are focused. “Oh. Get It Right is a song we co-wrote. We did original music for competition one year. It won us the regional title and… I’m not sure why we didn’t use it for Nationals, really.”

“Why? What’d you do for Nationals?”

“Two other original works. Light Up the World and Pretending. And we probably would have been finalists…” Rachel shakes her head at the memory, not because of the actual event, but because of the aftermath. “Finn thought it would be incredibly romantic to kiss me on stage. Jesse was right, it was unprofessional.”

“Oh my god!” Charity leaps off the bed, staring at Rachel with wide eyes. “That was you? The— the—” she waves her hand, snapping her fingers in an attempt to jog her memory. “The T-Rex eating the Jew? Oh my god.”

“You know, I’d gone at least nine months without hearing that. But, yes. That was us.”

“Sorry, I’m… that was really rude.” Charity sits back down, tucking her legs beneath her and setting her hands on her lap. “I’m back in supportive mode, I promise. Quinn. Get It Right. Feelings. Focusing now.”

“I feel like I’m going through the same thing with her that I went through with him. I know not everyone charts out their life plan in the seventh grade and very few people are blessed with the sheer vocal talent that I’ve been given, but I’ve always known my destiny was on the stage.” Rachel pauses to unscrew the cap from her water bottle and take a long drink. “Finn was always set on what he thought he was supposed to do, then was disappointed when those things didn’t work out for him. And Quinn… she has motivation and she actually got into Yale, but… it kind of fell apart on her and now she… I don’t know what she’s trying to do.”

“What did she say? When you… not-broke up?”

“That she didn’t want to hold me back, because she’s in Lima and I’m in New York. But that’s just an excuse. She could do anything she wanted. They don’t just let anyone into Yale’s dramatic arts program.”

“But you’re talking about two different things. Why are you equating how she feels about you with her… um, life? Her ambition or whatever.”

“Because Quinn’s based her life around ambition. It’s one of the things we have in common.”

“Sure, but… you said she told you she didn’t want to hold you back, but you think it’s just an excuse. But that’s not about how she feels about you, that’s about her. Isn’t it?”

“Quinn’s… complicated.” Rachel has no idea how to further describe any of this without getting into even deeper detail and she isn’t sure if any of those details her hers to share.

“I know,” Charity allows with a coaxing smile. She nudges Rachel’s side. “I could tell from the Avril song you posted.”

Rachel rolls her eyes, almost as if in tribute to the person who’s the topic of their discussion hour. “She’s right, though, about the distance. It’s something that can’t just be resolved overnight. She has a job in Lima and her mom and Beth…” She wonders if she should have even said that, but then it’s not as if Quinn keeps her a secret. If there’s ever been anything or anyone in Quinn’s life that she’s proud of, it’s that little girl.

“Oh, jeez. Is Beth someone else in the triangle? I don’t think I can deal with that on top of the shared fiancé.”

Rachel shakes her head. “Beth is her daughter.”

There is absolutely no way for Charity to control her facial expression; she tries valiantly, but… holy shit. “Wow. Um. Okay. Not judging, just… wow. She takes care of her?”

There’s another reach for the water bottle. “I’m going to be honest with you and let you know that if I keep explaining this, it’s going to be a lot more information that you initially sought out. I fully appreciate your instinct to make sure I’m all right, but I wouldn’t blame you if you don’t want to hear about all of my life story highlights in one-sitting.”

“Oh, please. Give me some credit, Smallville. I asked for the Ballad, I want the Ballad. And I’ll remind you again that you can go ahead and burst into song at any time.” She smiles. “This is… okay, maybe fun is the wrong word, but I like getting to know you. Even if roommates are only supposed to be best friends on the Disney channel. No reason not to aim high, right?”

“Right,” Rachel says with a nod. “All right. So, Quinn has a daughter, Beth. She was born immediately after our first regional performance, sophomore year.” She sits up a little, as she begins to explain. “I was the only one to stay behind to watch the competition, because our primary rival choir, Vocal Adrenaline, was headed up by my ex-boyfriend, Jesse, who’s the only person I’ve ever met with the same intense dedication to performance, presence, and posterity both on-stage and off. Our relationship was quite passionate and he even changed schools to be with me, but it later turned out that he’d been undercover, sent by Shelby Corcoran, the coach of Vocal Adrenaline, to infiltrate my life.” Rachel’s legs are now tucked up underneath her. “Meanwhile, Quinn, has been pregnant and struggling to find her social footing, because she’s no longer head Cheerio, that’s what we called the cheerleading captain at McKinley. Anyway, flash back forward to the regional competition and the birth of Beth. Oh, quick aside, Beth’s father is Noah Puckerman, a young man with whom I once had a dalliance with, early during my sophomore year. So, Beth is born, we lose to Vocal Adrenaline, even though we probably offered up one of our best competition performances, ever, and Shelby adopts Beth.”

For a moment, Charity is literally struck dumb. “Um,” she says, trying to find words. She blinks. “You said that Finn was this whole big thing between you, but you haven’t mentioned… could we maybe draw a chart? I’m kind of confused.” After a second, she adds, “I’m just going to go ahead and tell you now that none of my Chad stories are nearly this interesting. Sorry.”

“Finn and I first dated a couple months prior, but only for a couple weeks. I… overwhelmed him, I think.” Rachel shakes the memory and focuses on her story. “That’s not relevant to this. Or… well…” No, now isn’t the time or the place to discuss the initial question of Beth’s paternity. “No. It’s not. So, Shelby has adopted Beth, because Shelby once was a surrogate for a couple looking to have a baby of their own, but weren’t able without the miracle of modern science. And that baby,” She pauses. “Was me.”

Charity’s draw drops. “You’re trolling me.”

“I’m not! This is truly the story of my life.”

“Your mom has Quinn’s baby,” Charity repeats, just trying to make sense of it. “Your mom has Quinn’s baby.” She palms her face, as if she could somehow massage away her shock. “I’m sorry, that’s— should I be saying… biological mother, or…? I don’t know how to… your mom has Quinn’s baby.”

“She’s my biological mother, but has never really functioned as a parent for me, save for a brief stint when I was obsessed with wanting her to serve as one, but that didn’t last long and she hasn’t made any serious effort to pursue that relationship with me.” Rachel still has some conflicting internal issues about Shelby, it seems. “But she’s apparently a good mother to Beth. Quinn does as much as she absolutely can, which isn’t much, unfortunately.”

“I will grant you that this is… ungodly levels of complicated,” Charity says slowly, still trying to process everything she’s just been told, but not wanting to forget why they started this conversation in the first place, “but why should any of it mean that you and Quinn shouldn’t be together? Hypothetically, I guess, because…” she trails off, not wanting to twist the knife any more.

“Honestly? I don’t know. I wanted to try long distance. She didn’t.”

“Well, do you want to move on, or do you want her to change her mind? Look at us, Smallville. We’re actresses. We got into one of the most selective drama programs in the country. We can figure this out. It’s like a character study.”

“Quinn’s not… you can’t just change her mind.” Rachel leans back against the wall behind her. “I’m always the one taking the first step. I’m always putting myself out there and she… she’s so guarded.. But definitely not without reason. She went through a lot being pregnant in high school, losing her place on the squad, and… so many other things. I don’t blame her for not just jumping into something… it’s just tiring having to be the one who always puts things in motion.”

Charity shifts position, moving so that their bodies are closer together, legs flush. She doesn’t want to offer a hug yet, because that tends to feel like a conversation-ender, but… god, if Rachel’s puppy eyes could somehow be bottled, they could probably guilt cancer into curing itself. “So why did you want to try at all? I’m not saying this to be mean, but if she’s that messed up over everything— which is perfectly understandable— then why did you want to try long distance when there are so many reasons not to? I mean, strangers on the internet are invested in whether this happens or not. Clearly there’s something there. But… I don’t know. This isn’t the kind of situation where one person is right, and the other person is wrong. But what would it even look like, if you’d…?” This conversation is impossible.

“Because, the complication of this summer aside, she’s the one person I can rely on to be honest with me. Because she lets me call her at four in the morning when I’m freaked out over some stupid scary movie that she reluctantly let me watch in the first place. Because she’s smart, she’s so smart, and she can be funny, even though most people don’t really think she has a sense of humor, but she does. It’s just… very Quinn. She’s amazing about everything regarding her daughter, even though she’s had to fight for the right to even see her. She’s a former cheerleader, which is something I wouldn’t have thought I’d be listing out, but it’s definitely worth listing…” Rachel smiles to herself. “Because believing in Quinn means believing that anything is possible.”

Charity smiles. “Well shit, Smallville, now I’m in love with her.” She frowns, considering it for a moment. “Even if she did corner me in the bathroom just to say how much she dislikes me.”

“Well,” Rachel offers a half smile and a shrug, “Maybe you have a shot with her, then.”

“There a joke there I’m not getting?” Charity chuckles, amused by Rachel’s cartoony this is my sly face expression.

“When we were younger, we didn’t always get along. We’ve obviously gotten past that, now.” That’s all Rachel cares to discuss about their ancient history.

“But you still haven’t really answered my question,” Charity realizes. “What’s the… what’s the plan here? Are we moving on, or are we waiting for her to get her shit together? I’m your roommate; I’m honor-bound to back you up either way. It’s, like. The code.” She grins. “I’ll bet it’s even in the handbook.”

“It’s not in the handbook.” Rachel runs her hands over her hair. “I don’t know what I’m doing. But I really do want to go get vegan ice cream, if you’re willing to leave the room with me.”

“You kidding? For you, Smallville, I’ll even put on a bra.” She studies Rachel’s expression for a moment. “Want a hug, first?”

“Yeah.” Rachel extends her arms and hugs her new friend.

“Gosh, you’re friggin’ cute,” Charity chuckles, giving her a squeeze before letting go. “Okay. I’m going to dress like an actual person, and then we’ll go get ice cream. Want to endanger our lives and try putting up your glowy stars after? I could use the laugh.”

“I’d like that, thank you. As long as we follow the star chart I printed out.” Rachel pushes herself up off the bed and slips on a pair of flats. “Should I bother to change out of this shirt or…?”

“I’ll… we’ll do the best we can without breaking our necks. And keep it, it suits you.”


	34. Another Step Closer

Carolyn has been anticipating this session ever since she received a message from Quinn stating she’d ended things with Rachel. She also knows there was an interaction with Beth this last week, so there are plenty of topics to cover and she has no idea where Quinn will want to begin, or if she’ll even care to discuss any of it.

The best method, really, is to leave the topic wide open and let Quinn choose for herself. Though, her primary concern is Quinn’s right wrist, which is covered under a light wrapping of gauze. It doesn’t look like hospital issue and Carolyn knows she would have been contacted if anything had happened that was serious enough to require a psychological evaluation, but that isn’t enough to disregard what’s right in front of her.

“From what I already know, it’s been something of an eventful week for you,” she says, hoping that’s enough of a lead-in to get Quinn started.

Quinn smiles, in spite of herself. She’s slouched in her chair, wearing jeans and a polo shirt, and her eyes may or may not still be red and puffy from all the crying she’s done the past few days. She’s way past the point of caring. In fact, she feels like she’s been beaten up and left out in the rain overnight, and she’s far too exhausted to fight Dr. Radcliffe—Carolyn— on anything today. Let her bring her barrage of questions. Quinn merely shrugs and says, “Go ahead. Ask me.” 

“I’m going to assume you mean about the phone message, since it’s the only time you’ve ever presented me with information outside of a session. So, what happened?”

“She asked me for a relationship. I told her no.” It’s the simplest explanation. And the only way Quinn really knows how to explain it. 

“Do you want a relationship with Rachel?”

Quinn stares at her shoes before slowly lifting her eyes to meet Carolyn’s gaze. “I’ve only ever felt really happy twice in my whole life. When I first held Beth, and when I was with Rachel.” 

“You realize that I can’t help but ask why you’d deny yourself something that you admit makes you happy,” Carolyn says.

Quinn runs a hand through her hair. “Because it would never work? She’s six hundred miles away. I know nothing about New York or showtunes or being a star on Broadway. I’d never even had a job until a few months ago. I don’t have a future, not yet, and Rachel deserves someone who does.” 

“You’re eighteen. The fact that you’re just now working out things like a job, that’s normal.” Carolyn evaluates what she’s just heard and continues. “Is your friendship with Rachel founded on New York or showtunes or Broadway?”

Dr. Radcliffe receives a pointed look. “Are you really suggesting that I’m emotionally stable enough given my past few years’ experience to begin a serious long distance relationship with someone?” 

“You found yourself to be emotionally stable enough to begin and maintain a rather complicated and adult short-term relationship over the summer. And you’ve avoided my question.”

“We were never dating,” Quinn says, but even she knows at this point that it’s starting to sound kind of thin. “My friendship with Rachel is founded on… I don’t really know, actually. We’ve always just kind of been drawn to each other. But Broadway and showtunes and New York are important to her, and the only thing that’s important to me… there isn’t really anything anymore.” 

“But you’ve cited those things as being relevant to you turning down a relationship with her. I’m just trying to explore what you’ve given me. Do you feel you and Rachel would be able to maintain a relationship, whether romantic or not, if she didn’t have those things?” Carolyn asks.

Quinn’s voice is as sharp as her eyes. “I’m not blaming her for us not being together.” 

“I didn’t mean to suggest that,” Carolyn says. “Does this mean you blame yourself?”

The only answer Quinn can give is the tears that are in her eyes. Still, she doesn’t cry. Between Rachel and Beth, she’s cried all she can. There isn’t anymore. Finally, she says, “Does it matter? We’re not together. It’s over.”

“Does that have anything to do with,” Carolyn looks pointedly at Quinn’s wrapped wrist, “that?” Before Quinn can roll her eyes, she adds, “It’s my responsibility to ask.”

“Are you serious?”

“You’re upset, you’ve been through a lot of emotional distress, and there’s a visible sign of injury that resembles what I’m trained to both recognize and question. So, yes, I’m serious.”

“I’m not hurting myself,” Quinn says plainly. “I would never do that.” 

“Then will you take the bandage off, please?” Carolyn rises from her chair so she can get a good look at whatever Quinn’s about to reveal.

“Of course you don’t trust me,” Quinn mumbles, but she doesn’t resist. She peels back the tape and unwinds the gauze, extending her arm so that Carolyn can see. There’s an eyebrow raised in challenge, but otherwise, nothing. 

“I’d have to do this for anyone, Quinn. It’s not personal.” All it takes is a quick glance to ease Carolyn’s mind. She lowers herself back into her seat. “Although, it would make things easier on both of us if you’d try to be more forthcoming with your answers, instead of deflecting.” There’s a slight reprieve, though, as she shifts topics. “I understand you were scheduled to see Beth this week.”

“Fine. I’ll be forthcoming. I’m an open book, doctor.” Quinn knows that it won’t get to Carolyn the way she’d like it to, but it makes her feel slightly more in control. “I saw Beth last night. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. And one of the best.” 

“How did she respond to you?”

“She was nervous. She clung to Shelby for most of the night. We read a few books, and she let me hug her goodnight.” It was amazing. She hugged her daughter for the first time in ten months, and it was amazing.

“Do you realize you’re smiling as you’re talking about her, right now?” Carolyn asks.

“She’s perfect. She’s the one good thing that I’ve done in my entire life, and I never thought I’d get the chance to know her. How could I not smile?” 

Carolyn offers a small smile in response and makes a note before asking, “Why do you think you’re so fixated on absolutes? You refer to Beth as the one good thing you’ve done. You insist you have no future to offer Rachel. Why is that?”

Quinn thinks about this one, really thinks. Why does she think that way? The only thing she can possibly offer is a quiet, “I’ve always been nothing until I’ve proved myself.” 

“Isn’t that everyone, though?”

“If it’s everyone, why are you suggesting that there’s something wrong with me?” 

“That isn’t at all what I’ve said. But, while it’s part of the human condition to need to prove oneself, it’s my observation that you specifically have a tendency to focus on the outcome of a situation without actually allowing yourself any enjoyment of the journey. This is a generalization, because you obviously are capable of enjoying yourself, as you have this summer, but in the end you’ve still allowed a self-implemented ultimatum to prevent any further growth.” Carolyn isn’t even looking at her notes. She’s known this about Quinn for a long time.

Quinn purses her lips, which is her go-to habit when she’s not sure what she can say. She finally settles on, “Fine. So what are you saying? I’m just supposed to ignore all of my instincts for self-preservation and make some kind of commitment to Rachel, even though it feels like the only possible outcome is for us to break each others’ hearts?”

“Again, though, you’re making another absolute statement. And I’m certainly not attempting to dictate your relationship with her or your relationship with Beth, for that matter. But you’ve rarely given me need for concern in regard to your daughter, outside of your behavior last year. And even that could be boiled down to a misguided expression of concern for your child’s well-being.” Carolyn pauses to recollect her thoughts. Quinn’s attempt to manipulate Beth back into her own life is a conversation that’s been had and the situation appears to be on a solid track to resolution, so there isn’t really a need to rehash it. “When it comes to Rachel, it appears that she wants a relationship with you and you want one with her, but you’re convinced it will not work, regardless of whatever she might tell you or what you might feel for each other. That isn’t self-preservation. That’s self-sabotage.”

“And why are you so convinced that it will work?” Quinn sits up abruptly. “I live in Ohio. I’m completely broke. I don’t have any money to move to New York, and I might never have it. My mother is here, and she clearly needs me. My daughter is here, and I just got the chance to get to know her. New York is Rachel’s town, and Lima is mine, and how could I not possibly want to guard myself against that? We’re not supposed to be together or there would be a way for us to be.” 

Quinn is breathing heavily by the time she’s done. She believes this. She’s thought a lot about it, and she believes it. 

“I don’t know if it will work. That’s what life is, not knowing. We can guess and we can plan and we can try to know what will happen, but ultimately, we don’t until we do. It sounds trite, I’m sure, but that’s part of living life.” Carolyn normally wouldn’t begin spewing general philosophy during a session, but Quinn’s making progress and she hates to see the prospect of that slowing down. “You can list off a hundred reasons why you feel it won’t work, but you’ve yet to answer my original question.” She waits, but Quinn isn’t responding, so she asks it, again. “Do you want a relationship with Rachel?”

Quinn has been in therapy for years. She’s sat in this exact spot and cried over Beth and bitched about Finn and cursed Dr. Radcliffe to her face. She has put so much into her own healing process, even though it may not seem like it to outside eyes, but she knows. She knows what it’s cost her. And Carolyn told her to open up. Stop deflecting. This is just the next step in her healing process. It doesn’t hurt as much as she thinks it will when she nods once and whispers, “Yes.”

This is such major progress, but Carolyn doesn’t plan to stop, yet. “Do you think she knows that?”

“I have no idea.” Quinn’s voice is still a whisper, like it’s all she can do to just get the words out. Her arms automatically wrap around herself. She’s no longer apathetic. This hurts far too much for her not to care. 

“Have you two spoken since you returned home?”

“She actually… drunk Skyped me a few days ago.”

“Drunk Skyped…” Carolyn manages to suppress the light laugh that ultimately fails to find its way out. It’s the first she’s head of that particular brand of drunken contact. “So she wasn’t really in a fame of mind to discuss any of this, I take it.”

“She was half naked and in my old cheerleading sweatshirt. She was totally drunk. No, we did not talk about us. I didn’t think it would be in her best interest.” Quinn chews her lip. “Or mine.”

“And have you spoken to her since then?”

Quinn shakes her head. “No, it’s been pretty… she has a roommate now and Kurt, and she’s making friends. And I was at Shelby’s last night. We haven’t really… I don’t even know if she wants to. She was drunk. It might have been a total mistake.”

“So… is your plan just to wait until she contacts you, again?”

“She made it pretty clear before her little drunk Skype session that she’s not interested in talking to me right now. I have to respect that.” 

Carolyn rests her chin on her hand as she listens. “It’s important that you have that level of respect for her. But… is that actually what happened? I’m asking this because, based on the message you left me, you’re the one who ended things. From what you’ve told me today, she definitely expressed a desire to have a relationship with you and you’d like one with her. So, I’d just like some clarification, if you feel you can recall what she specifically told you.”

“She told me that she doesn’t like what I have to say right now. And that she’s upset over what happened. She might have called me a few nights ago, but she was drunk. Everyone crosses boundaries they don’t mean to cross when they’re drunk.”

“It also suggests that she has a desire to communicate with you. And, is it possible that her dislike of what you might have to say to her is based on the fact that you’ve expressed you have no desire to be in a relationship with her? Do you think a good starting point might be an honest discussion of your feelings?”

Quinn tries to imagine how she could possibly begin to discuss her feelings with Rachel, and it’s impossible. She doesn’t talk about her feelings. With anyone. She’s a Fabray. She soldiers through. She has to admit, it hasn’t really protected her so far, if the amount of pain she’s in right now is any indication. Still, the devil you know is better than the one you don’t. Right?

“Let’s say that I’m open to doing that,” Quinn says carefully. “How am I supposed to do it? I’m not good at being vulnerable.”

“You’re capable of it when you stop getting in your own way. The recent development with Shelby and Beth is a prime example of that.” Carolyn knows Quinn is so close to working this out, but everything still feels so delicate. “With Rachel, the first step is as simple as letting her know you want that relationship with her. It won’t magically make everything easier, but don’t you think that’s an important detail to share?”

“I didn’t say I’m not capable. I said I’m not good at it. What am I supposed to say? Rachel, will you be my girlfriend, circle your answer below?” 

“Your approach is up to you, Quinn. As is your decision to even bring it up,” Carolyn says. “But I think you’ll find that it’s the anticipation of the moment that’s more daunting that the actual action itself.”

Quinn throws her a look. “You’ve never met Rachel.”

“I haven’t. Would you like me to?”

“Oh my god.” This cannot be happening. Quinn can think of a hundred things she would rather do than have a therapy session in front of Rachel. A thousand. “I feel like introducing the two of you would somehow be the same as a proposal of marriage in her world.”

Carolyn smiles politely and makes another note. “All right. Then why do you feel that’s relevant to the current discussion?”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “I just meant, if you knew her, you’d know that she makes a huge deal out of everything. I might as well get down on one knee in Times Square.”

“So, you’re saying your over-projected expectation of what could happen turns a simple action into something too big for you to handle?”

“Oh, fuck you, Carolyn,” Quinn says with no real anger behind it. “You know that I have issues with making sure things are controlled. Rachel is a wild card. She’s impossible to control, and for the first time, I don’t even want to, which is why we’re even having this discussion. You asked me if this is too daunting, and my response was that Rachel is intense. Probably the most intense person I’ve ever met. Hell yes, it’s daunting.”

“Do you feel she made a lot of daunting demands over the course of the summer? Or that her request for a relationship with you was particularly intense?”

“She doesn’t demand, actually. She… hasn’t in a long time. It’s different. Intense, yes. Demanding, not exactly. It’s more like… an unspoken expectation.” 

“Again, I haven’t met Rachel, but from what you’ve shared with me, it seems that if she had any specific expectation of you that she truly wanted you to meet, she would be sure to share that with you, not simply expect you to know about it.” Carolyn looks down at her notepad, then back up at Quinn. “I’d like for you to think about that, this week.”

Slowly, Quinn nods. It’s not going to be easy, she knows, but she at least owes Rachel that. “Okay,” she finally says. And then, “She would, you’re right.” 

“I’d like to go back to Beth, if you’re comfortable with that. What else can you tell me about your time with her?”

This is different, entirely. Quinn relaxes back into the chair. “Shelby has all of my letters saved for her, and all of the pictures I’ve sent her in an album with my picture on the front. She shows it to Beth and reads the letters, even though she doesn’t understand. She recognized me.” That last part is enough to make her tears rise to the surface again, and she wipes at her eye with the back of her hand. “She likes books. She’ll sit and look at the pictures for hours, Shelby says, and—” The books. Puck hates to read. The books are all Quinn, and when she saw Beth drag a copy of Fox in Socks all over the house all evening, all she could think was, “She got that from me. That’s part of me inside of her.” 

Quinn smiles through her tears. “She wouldn’t let me hold her, but I read to her, and she hugged me before I left.”

“How do you feel when you see her interact with Shelby?”

“It’s hard. I mean, I’m the first person who—” She closes her eyes. “Before she was anyone’s, she was mine, you know? For a few perfect days, she was mine. But Shelby… she loves her. She provides for her. She’s a good mom, and I’m not— I couldn’t have been. So, it hurts, but it’s worth it, knowing that she has a shot at a good life.”

“Did you and Shelby discuss any further steps in allowing you to be more involved?”

“We’re keeping it light for now. Dinner once a week, and I’m allowed to deliver my letters to Beth in person now. And read them to her myself.” Quinn shrugs. “I lost a lot of trust last year, and I have to win it back.”

“It’s apparent that you’re putting a lot of work into this. It’s an excellent progression for you, Quinn.”

“She’s my daughter,” Quinn says, like it should be the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Given that Shelby retains the role of ‘mother’ in this situation, what’s your ultimate goal for your relationship with Beth?”

Quinn stares at her therapist for a moment before she says, “You actually think I’m going to try to get her back again.” And, just like that, her arms are folded tightly across her chest and she’s got her walls up once more. “I’m not. She’s happy, and I just— God, Carolyn, I just want to know her. How am I supposed to make all this progress and open myself up to Rachel when my own therapist still thinks I’m the same girl I was a year ago? You don’t even trust me. How could she?” 

Carolyn’s eyebrows raise, but she’s quick to revert back to her best poker face. “Why do you immediately assume that’s the intent behind my question? Quinn, you’re Beth’s biological mother and you’re creating a relationship with Beth and Shelby, her adoptive mother. There are plenty of other reasons to inquire about your perceived placement within that dynamic beyond the assumption of removing her from Shelby’s care.” She folds her hands and leans across her desk. “These assumptions are something you need to learn to evaluate before you act on them.”

Quinn’s laugh is harsh. “You say that like I just pull conclusions out of thin air, like I haven’t been constantly under scrutiny and judgement my entire life. Like people aren’t watching me all of the time, waiting for me to screw everything up again. I get that maybe it’s not as pervasive as it used to be, but lets get real. I removed myself from that situation. Outside of Rachel and occasionally Santana and Brittany, I don’t interact with anyone anymore. I don’t know why there’s this expectation for me to be perfect, but I’m telling you that people can’t live under that kind of constant pressure.” 

“You often insist that you aren’t the girl you used to be, yet you continue to hold yourself to the same standards as the girl you claim you aren’t. In addition to what we’ve already discussed, I’d really like you to take some time this week to consider which of those standards might be irrelevant to your life, at this time.” Carolyn makes a note about what she’s just said on her notepad and consults the clock.

Quinn’s pride is still wounded, but she says, “I’ll try,” anyway. This has been the most difficult session yet, and that includes all of the sessions during her ‘angry teenager’ phase, as well as the session immediately after her pastor’s wife caught her getting felt up by another girl on the ferris wheel. 

“All right. I’ll see you next week? And, Quinn, I think if you can get comfortable with putting yourself out there, you’ll find that it’ll begin to get easier for you.”

Another week, another catalogue of Quinn’s insecurities and failures. And then she thinks of Beth slapping at Quinn’s photograph and squealing in delight. She thinks of Mr. and Mr. Berry, grinning at her over brunch when she held Rachel’s hand right in front of them. And she thinks of Rachel. Rachel, peering out of Quinn’s cheerleading hoodie, telling her she loves her. And therapy is no longer just a list of all the ways Quinn has failed or all of the things that she needs to fix. It’s a series of snapshots of the things that have made her happy in the past few weeks. 

She thinks about Carolyn’s instructions. The expectations Rachel has for her, and the ones she has for Rachel; the standards that she holds herself to, when no one else seems to hold her to the same. She’s excited about making this type of progress. She loves a challenge, after all. It will be difficult but necessary and— hopefully— rewarding. And still, the only thing she can say is, “I’ll try.” 

She hopes that Dr. Radcliffe understands.


	35. Sanctuary

There are many things about this morning that feel foreign to Quinn. Neither of her parents are here, for one. It’s been months since she herself has set foot inside these doors. The way her pastor’s wife looked at her when she saw her, a mix of relief and disgust on her face, if such a thing is even possible. People here don’t know how to treat Quinn. People she has known her entire life, all of them watching her like they’re afraid of her somehow. Like they don’t trust her. 

She finds a spot near the back and sits alone. She keeps her eyes fixed to the front, her hands folded on the white linen skirt covering her lap, and tries not to cry at the overwhelming feeling that she’s lost her home, in every sense. When the congregation stands, Quinn stands too and finds her place in the hymnal. She opens her mouth and sings a hymn she’s known since she was a little girl. She’s never felt more alone in her life. 

Sam’s running late this morning— one of the many downsides of not having his own car. He’s gotten a lot better at navigating the Lima municipal bus system, but he has no control over whether they run on time or not. The service has already started when he slips in the front door, and he winces, trying not to make too much noise as he closes the door behind him. He likes to sit in the front, generally, but… he’s drawn enough attention to himself as it is. Slinking as sneakily as possible, he slides into the closest pew and tries not to make a scene.

That becomes a lot harder when he realizes he’s standing right next to Quinn Fabray.

Quinn still enjoys singing. She misses it, actually. And, while this isn’t exactly the same as performing, it still gives her that same feeling she used to experience in glee club. There’s movement to her right and when she glances over to see who’s standing next to her, her voice falters. 

Sam Evans. 

He looks the same. No, he actually looks better. His hair is darker, shoulders broader, but his smile… his smile is the same as ever, and it’s not until it’s directed at her that she realizes how much she’s missed it. She offers a small one back and finds her voice in the middle of the song. 

He knows he’s probably beaming at her like a dork, but he can’t help it. He hasn’t seen Quinn since graduation, and she’s still… she’s still Quinn. They never really figured out what that meant, but she’s special to him, and he’s been hearing about her lately from Puck, and it’s just… nice to be reminded that she’s real.

Hi, he mouths, before nudging her hymnal between them so he can share. His baritone joins her alto, and he winks at her.

If there’s anyone who can make Quinn roll her eyes, it’s Sam, but she’s still smiling when she mouths in response, Hey. For the first time in a long time, just by standing in her old church, sharing a hymnal with Sam Evans, she feels like she’s done something right somehow. The feeling that she’s lost her home has lessened, even if it’s only temporary. Nothing has really changed, but just his being here makes her think that maybe— for just this moment— she’s not completely alone. 

The service goes by in a blur, for Sam. He’s missed singing with Quinn— missed hearing her voice— and he enjoys himself thoroughly. The sermon this week is, hilariously enough, about the importance of long-lasting friendships and loving your neighbor; Sam spends it nudging Quinn in the side and grinning at her every time she glares at him. Quinn’s kind of like a cat, in that way. She’ll glare at you whether she likes you or not, so it’s best to just ignore her and be nice. She always comes around in the end.

When they’re finally dismissed and stand to leave, he doesn’t hesitate; it’s reflex to turn to his left and wrap her up in a hug. As always, he’s surprised at just how much his arms constrict before he actually gets to her body; she’s always just a little bit smaller than he remembers.

Sam’s arms are around her before she can react, and it’s such a surprise that she stands stock-still and lets him hug her. He’s still solid and warm, and he smells just like she remembers, and he holds the hug long enough for her to finally relax and melt into him. It’s been a while since she’s had any contact with anyone who isn’t— well, Rachel. And this is nice. 

“Hey, Q,” he grins when he finally releases her. “Long time no see.” There’s something off about her— something different in the way she looks— but it takes him a second to place it. Hair the same, eyes still the prettiest he’s ever seen, clothes… wait. “What happened to your cross?”

Quinn’s hand automatically flies to her throat and slender fingers trace over the New York pendant against her collarbone. “I haven’t worn it in a while, but I still have it,” she says. And then, to get the focus off of herself, “How are you?” 

Sam is one of the only people in the world that Quinn speaks this softly to. He’s such a sweet guy, and it’s clear that he sees Quinn in a certain light— they’ve always had a kind of bond. Even if she doesn’t understand half of the references he makes. He’s still Sam. 

“I’m good, I’m—” he pauses, looking over her shoulder. “Ah, jeez, we’re holding up the line. Sorry!” he calls to the disgruntled congregation members behind them. “Look, do you wanna, um— get lunch or something? I didn’t drive, but—”

“It’s okay. I have my car.” She rests a hand against his shoulder. It’s been months, and she really had no idea how much she misses all of the things she used to love. “We can definitely get some lunch.” 

“Brilliant,” he says in his best Tenth Doctor accent, grabbing for her hand. “Allons-y!”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “I have no idea what that means.” She hesitates for only a second before sliding her hand into his and squeezing gently. She controls everything else about herself so that she appears completely impassive, but she needs him to know that she’s happy he’s here. When they walk past the pastor’s wife, Quinn holds eye contact the entire way, an eyebrow lifted in a silent challenge. It’s only once they’ve passed through the door into the sunshine that Quinn realizes Sam is talking. “… it’s French, Quinn. Not every language I speak is fictional. Pay attention.” Sam’s smile somehow looks brighter with every passing second.

There’s a deli downtown called Sprouts that Quinn likes, and she takes Sam there. By the time they get their food and sit down, some of the shock has worn off, and Quinn is starting to feel a little more comfortable. 

“So, photography, huh?” Sam asks, after taking a bite of his Reuben. “Puck told me about your job— I’m living with him now, in that apartment complex off Spring. Is that, like, a new thing, or…?”

“You’re living with Puck?” Quinn tries to imagine the two of them sharing an apartment before asking slowly, “You guys aren’t…?” 

Sam’s eyes crinkle in amusement. “How many of your meals do I have to pay for before you believe me when I tell you I’m not gay? It just kind of worked out. I didn’t want to impose on the Hummel-Hudsons any more, with Kurt going to New York and Finn shipping off to Basic, and Puck didn’t want to live with his mom, so it just… yeah. I’m working with him, too. Doing landscaping on the houses he does pool work for. We’re trying to make a business out of it.”

Quinn runs a hand through her hair and tries not to make an observation out loud that they must look like the Village People when they’re working. Instead, she says, “Well, that’s good for you guys. I didn’t mean to imply that you’re gay. It’s not— it’s not a bad thing, and I didn’t mean—” She sips her water so that she’ll have an excuse to stop talking about this. “How are Stevie and Stacey?” 

But Sam’s not listening anymore; his eyes haven’t left her wrist since she ran a hand through her hair. “Hey,” he says, reaching out gently to still her arm, “What happened here?”

Quinn shoots him a look. “I burned myself on a baking sheet.”

“Har, har,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes. “Really. When’d you get it?”

“Tuesday. It’s— do you like it?”

Sam frowns thoughtfully at the words Stronger and Wiser, written out delicately over her skin. “I like it. It sounds really familiar, but I can’t place it. Are those song lyrics or something?”

Quinn nods. “Or something,” is all she says. “So, your family… how are they?” She drops her hand to her lap beneath the table, hiding her fresh tattoo from Sam’s eyes. 

“They’re good. Stacey still asks about you, y’know. Pretty sure she likes you better than she likes me.” He takes another bite of his sandwich. “But you haven’t answered my question. Is photography a new thing, with you?”

The news that Sam’s sister still asks about her threads a feeling of happiness all the way through her. She’s always loved Sam’s family. “Photography, yeah. I started taking pictures this summer. I got a job at a studio and take portraits of kids, mostly. I did some freelance work, too. I’m a state finalist in a national competition, and I’m waiting to find out if I won. It should be any time.” 

Quinn has no idea why she’s sharing this information so easily. Maybe her therapy is paying off, or maybe she’s still upset about the fight she had with Rachel last night. Maybe it’s just that she’s been without friends for so long that she just can’t help it. She’s also starting to get anxious about the competition, and she just wants to know if she made it or not so that she can move on with her life, either way. 

“That’s awesome,” Sam enthuses, smiling widely. “I’d tell you good luck, but it’s not like you need it. You’re one of the most talented people I know. And it’s not like it’d be your first National title.” 

“In photography, it would be. Plus, there’s a trip to Chicago and then possibly Paris riding on it. And maybe an internship that could turn into an actual career. If not, I’ll just be working at Shutter Bugs until my boss retires.” She takes a bite of her wrap. “Probably.” 

“Photography, cheerleading; same diff,” he shrugs. “You’re Quinn Fabray. You were always going places. You’ll make it happen.”

“How are you so optimistic all of the time? You almost remind me of—” She bites her lip. “I just don’t understand how you can be so blindly positive.” 

“It’s not blind, that’s the point,” he says as reasonably as he can. He hates it when Quinn gets like this. It never happened when they were dating, but he saw it pretty often when she was helping him babysit. He wonders if she changed, or if it’s just the difference between how she is in a relationship versus how she is with her friends. “I see you. You’re awesome. You’ve always been awesome.”

Quinn doesn’t see the need to point out that she’s been raked over coals fairly well since yesterday. It would only open up a bunch of questions that she doesn’t want to answer. It’s so much easier to just pretend like there isn’t a girl in New York who simultaneously makes her feel like she’s the luckiest girl in the world and a born loser every time they interact…

“Thanks, Sam.” The thing about Sam is, he’s always so completely sincere. Quinn kind of loves him for it. 

“So, um… Puck said— and it’s totally okay if you don’t want to talk about this, I’ll understand completely— but. Um. Puck said that… that you got to see Beth this week?” He feels really awkward for asking. Quinn’s pregnancy has never really felt real to him. He knows that it happened, but it’s just this huge thing that bonded the rest of the glee club together, and he missed it, and… it’s just hard to picture, is all. But if it were his kid, he thinks he’d want to be asked. He thinks he’d want people to tell him he wasn’t wrong for wanting it.

Quinn can’t contain her smile. “Beth is… she’ll always be someone I’ll want to talk about. She’s perfect, Sam. It’s kind of touch and go right now because I’m still trying to win back Shelby’s trust, but Beth knows me. I hugged her and read to her, and she knows me.” 

“How old is she? Is she talking, yet?”

“She’s two. And she has this way of talking that’s just— She calls me ‘Q’ but it comes out ‘Ooooh.’ She’s beautiful, Sam.”

“That’s adorable. You know, the only reason Stevie goes by Stevie is because Stacey wouldn’t call him anything else. Like, Mom was Mommy and Dad was Daddy and I was Sammy, and I guess she got it in her head that names had to end in an -ee sound? She didn’t grow out of that for a really long time.”

“She’s really funny with nonsense words. She just makes things up all of the time. She’s very creative. And Shelby isn’t big on the baby talk. She actually explains things to her and has conversations with her like she’s an adult. She’s… I don’t like some of the things she’s done in her life, but with Beth at least, she’s a very good mom.”

“She’s always seemed kind of…” he struggles to think of the right word, but nothing comes to him, so he makes a grumpy face instead. “You know? But, like. You’re a good mom, too— or at least, you’re good with kids. Great with them. I wouldn’t have let you babysit if you weren’t.”

“Well, I work with kids all day. I like them.” Quinn lets her eyes linger on the words on her wrist. “But it’s different when it’s Beth or Stevie or Stace. It’s different with family.”

He makes a pained expression. “Dude, I want to quote Lilo and Stitch so bad right now, but you’ll only make fun of me.”

Quinn grins. “You know me so well. I will make fun of you.” 

“It’s my job to know you; you’re my family.” He kicks her under the table.

She rolls her eyes. “Just because you’re family doesn’t mean you can keep stealing my chips,” she says dryly. 

“Why? You’re not eating them. You never eat them.” He gives her an equally dry look. “I was your boyfriend. I know these things. … And I just took it to an incest place.”

“That doesn’t mean that you can have them. And I’m not even going to acknowledge the rest of what you said.” 

“Except by saying that, you just did,” he points out, before stealing her pickle and popping it, whole, into his mouth. “So ‘dere.”

“I cannot believe that you’re still taking food off of my plate. Next time, you’re going to have to be a gentleman.” 

He swallows and gives her an affronted look. “I am plenty gentleman-like. I paid for that!” he says, pointing at her plate. “And I opened the door, and— and—” He deflates. “My apologies, Miss Fabray. I will strive to be more gentlemanly in the future. I will gentleman the pants off of you.” 

“Um,” Quinn quirks an eyebrow. “You won’t be getting anywhere near my pants, Sam Evans. A true gentleman never would have even suggested that.” She’s trying to sound harsh, but she’s really just enjoying hanging out with her friend. She’s missed this. She didn’t really realize that it was Sam she missed, but now that they’re here together, she can’t imagine being here right now with anyone else. 

“Nah, it’s all a part of my cunning plan. I make you think I’m super rude and stuff, but suddenly, what? There’s a puddle? Oh, no worries, there’s Sam with his jacket. What now? There’s a high platform and you need help getting down? Why there is Sam Evans, offering his hand. I am gallant, I tell you.” He grins. “We should do this again, soon. I’ve missed you. I know Puck’s not the greatest company ever, but I promise I’ve got him mostly house trained. You could come and hang out sometime. Or… we could do something just the two of us…?”

She could do that. She could spend time with the father of her baby and his roommate. Actually, the more she thinks about it, the more it sounds like a horribly awkward situation. Still, it’s Puck and Sam. Since Beth, Puck has only ever been sweet to her, and Sam is like the brother she didn’t get to have. Well, he was once they broke up. Finally, she says, “I’d like that, Sam,” and when he steals another chip, she just laughs and tries to imagine the three of them together hanging out. For the first time since Rachel left, Quinn feels like she has something to look forward to.


	36. Can We Talk?

Quinn already has Skype open and is waiting for the alert to let her know that Rachel has signed on. It’s been longer than it should since Rachel replied to her text and said that they could talk, and Quinn is starting to get nervous. She still has Rachel’s drunk texts in her phone, including the one asking, “why don’t you want me anymore?” Quinn hadn’t realized until she’d read that text that a person’s heart could break more than once in the exact same spot. Lately, she’s felt like crying all of the time. It’s not that she doesn’t want Rachel. It’s not, and this is something that they need to discuss. It’s up to Quinn to put all of her insecurities aside for once. It’s time for her to stop pretending to be this pillar of strength and to actually be strong. 

It’s this thought that’s in her mind when she hears the chime that tells her “Rachel Berry is online.”

Rachel takes a moment to herself before she activates the call to Quinn. She owes it to her to actually talk about… whatever it is they’re about to discuss. She isn’t proud of her behavior over the weekend and she’s been trying to make it clear just how apologetic she is about it. Even though Kurt keeps telling her that she has every right to be upset and Charity keeps reminding her to not “sweat the small stuff, Smallville, even if that’s all they have in whatever part of Nebraska you’re from,” she just wants things to be okay with Quinn.

The video loads on her screen and she offers a sad smile and a small wave. “Hey.”

Quinn takes a second to take in Rachel’s appearance. Even though things have ended between them officially, she still feels the drive to make sure that Rachel is okay. She’s beautiful, as always, but right now she looks tired, and Quinn knows that it’s her doing.

She’s careful to keep her wrist out of sight. “Hey,” she says softly. 

“Hey,” Rachel says, again, then laughs at herself. “I feel like we haven’t… talked… face to face like this in a while.”

“With both of us sober, you mean,” Quinn says without trying to hide the shortness in her voice. She cares about Rachel, but it seems like every time they talk these days, Rachel is drunk, and Quinn feels like shit. “Are you…” She can’t really ask if Rachel is okay, because she’s not. Neither of them are. She goes with, “…feeling better?”

Rachel frowns at the memory of her most recent hangover. “It took me until yesterday to actually feel better after the wine party. I… Quinn, I swear I am not planning to drink like that again. It was terrible. And… I’m learning that I don’t like the way I… communicate when I’m… intoxicated.”

 

Quinn frowns. “I’m not going to pretend like I was thrilled with the way things went on Saturday. I know that things are difficult for us right now, and I know that you’re mad at me for what happened, but for you to just act like… I don’t care about you at all or that…” Quinn blows some air up at her bangs. “Or that all we have between us now is sexting when you’re drunk… it’s not okay. You’re more than that. We’re more than that.”

There’s a literal facepalm before Rachel offers up a muffled, “I am so embarrassed about that. I… just really miss you and…” She sighs and lets her hand fall away. “It was bad form, regardless.”

Quinn bites her lip. This is one of the things she wanted to talk about, and she’s being strong. There’s no backing out of this. It’s a discussion they need to have, and there’s no easy way to do it, other than to just jump in. Her voice is soft but clear when she says, “I went to see your dads yesterday, Rachel.”

“You did? Quinn… why would you…” It suddenly dawns on her how seriously Quinn is taking everything. And, of course, she is. “Seriously, I don’t plan to do it, anymore.”

Quinn is so focused on what she needs to say that Rachel’s response confuses her. “You don’t plan to do what anymore?” 

“The drinking. I’m already burned out on the college party scene, I think. What did you think I meant?”

“Rachel, I didn’t go talk to your dads to blow the whistle on you for drinking at a college party. I’m sure that they expect a fair amount of that to happen anyway as part of your college experience. If you were somehow hurting yourself, it’d be a different story, but getting drunk a few times and sending me out-of-line texts doesn’t warrant a family meeting. I went to talk to them about…” Quinn takes a deep breath like she’s about to jump into water that she has no idea how deep it is. And in some ways, that’s exactly what she’s doing. “This summer.”

“I’m sorry, I…” Rachel isn’t sure she’s understanding what Quinn’s saying. It’s been a long week and she’s on day one of her courses, so she’s tired and overwhelmed. “Why would you talk to them about that? I thought it made you uncomfortable. Especially given that we aren’t… together.”

Quinn drags her fingers through her hair. “It’s not like I gave them details.” She sighs. “I mostly just confirmed their suspicions and admitted that I— that we were involved over the summer. I wanted them to know because even though we’re not together, we’re obviously still a part of each other’s lives, and— it seemed like the honorable thing to do.” Somewhere along the way, her voice became less clear and more mumble-y, but she’s at least got her point across now.

Rachel blinks. “That’s definitely honorable. I don’t understand why you think it’s necessary, though.” She appreciates that Quinn is making progress, though she wishes it could have happened before now. As she looks at the small digital version of Quinn on her computer screen, she thinks about how long it really has been since they’ve talked and she’s reminded of something. “How’s your wrist?”

Quinn eyes drift to her wrist, just as her fingers grace the raised lettering. She hadn’t planned to reveal this part of herself to Rachel today, but maybe this is what Rachel needs in order to see what’s in Quinn’s heart. She wishes Rachel could just look at her and know, that she could somehow see how she feels without some grand gesture. But, then, this is Rachel Berry, and Quinn would be lying if she didn’t know that this is where they’d been heading, all along. 

“Rach… I didn’t— I never—” She sighs and lifts up her hand so that her wrist is in frame. “It’s healing fine,” is all she can say. 

“You… didn’t burn yourself,” Rachel realizes. She’s looking at the words ‘stronger and wiser’ etched in permanent ink on Quinn’s right wrist. 

She still feels like she’s missing something, but she doesn’t know how to ask what that is.

“It’s from ‘Get It Right,’” Quinn says softly. She’s not sure how much else to say— how much Rachel would want her to say. Rachel still seems confused, and Quinn has no idea how to make things clear. “It’s our… song.” It just seems like too little, too late, frankly, and Quinn thinks that maybe she made a mistake. And then she looks into Rachel’s eyes through her computer, and it’s not a mistake. It’s not. It can’t be. Her voice comes back and she repeats the words in a strong, clear voice. “Rachel. It’s our song.” 

“I know,” Rachel says, her voice quiet.

Quinn had to have gotten it almost as soon as she returned to Lima. “I don’t understand you, sometimes. I never know what you’re going to do or say from day to day and… this is something permanent…. but what does it mean to you?”

“It is permanent.” Quinn leans forward, hoping that Rachel will hear her and believe her. “And I’m sorry that I’m so hard to read. I really am. But I’m not trying to… I’m not just messing with you, Rachel. In the past, relationships have been relatively easy for me because I’ve always been able to control them. I was able to control them because they didn’t really mean that much to me. If I lost one, I lost it and it was fine. I knew that there would always be another guy, coming right along after. And then, with you… it wasn’t easy for me. It never has been. Because… I’m afraid of the things you make me feel.” She looks down, bites at her lip. “I can’t control it, and it terrifies me.” 

“It isn’t easy for me, either, Quinn. But I have faith in you. I trust you.” Rachel knows it means a lot that Quinn is saying this much and that there has to be a reason why this is all coming up, now. There’s also the fact that she spoke with Rachel’s dads. Which… “When you talked to my parents, what… did you say? I mean, I know you already said it was about this summer, but…” She doesn’t want to get her hopes up again, if she’s making this into something it isn’t. But the tattoo, the parental meeting, the need to talk… it all feels as if it’s leading somewhere.

“Rach,” Quinn says, and she can feel the look in her own eyes, pleading with Rachel to understand. They’ve always shared some level of connection, and this time, Quinn needs it like she never has. “I told them…” She sits up straighter, holds her head high. Her voice is still very soft when she speaks again. “I told them that I’m a coward. That we could have been everything this summer and that I wouldn’t let us. I apologized to them for not being truthful and for… hurting you. And I told them that— I care about you, Rachel. Very much.”

Quinn takes a breath and waits to see if Rachel is with her.

“I hate it when you call yourself that,” Rachel huffs. “Because you aren’t. You—” She stops, because her brain has just latched on to the rest of what Quinn’s just said. “Quinn, I know you care about me. I… see it in the things you do and hear it even when you talk around it. I know you wouldn’t have opened up to me like you have if you didn’t.” Her lips turn up into a small, shy smile. “But it means a lot to actually hear you say it.”

“I call myself that because it’s true. And I’m telling you all of this because the way things have been between us… You seem sad all of the time or angry with me, and you should be devoting your energy toward NYADA and settling in. You shouldn’t be focused on what I—” Quinn blinks back her tears. “On what I did to us. You deserve to know how much I care about you and that it didn’t mean nothing to me, being with you.” 

“It was hard, having you leave the way you did,” Rachel admits. “Sunday was one of the best days of my life and then Monday just… it hurt. Especially because you made Sunday so special and then it was like you took it back.”

This time, Quinn can’t blink back the tears, not all of them. She wipes at her eye with the back of her hand, annoyed that she’s crying in front of Rachel yet again. “Rach, I wasn’t trying to take it back. Sunday was good for me too, and then when I had to leave, it just—” She gives herself a minute to collect her thoughts and pull herself together. “I don’t have a good excuse. I’m so sorry that I hurt you.”

Rachel sniffs and can’t help her own tears as she draws in a shaky breath. “I wish you could just be here. And I’m sorry about the sexting ultimatum. That was extremely rude of me. And incredibly embarrassing in retrospect.”

It’s breaking Quinn’s heart that they’re so far apart right now when all she wants to do is feel Rachel in her arms. “Please don’t, Rach. You were drunk and upset. Please don’t feel embarrassed.” She can feel the blush creeping up her neck. “I miss you too, you know. All I want to do right now is hold you, and I can’t.”

“Well, I’m curbing my college coed party lifestyle, so it won’t happen, again,” Rachel tries to laugh, but her heart isn’t in it. “I miss you holding me more than the sex, you know,” she says. There’s no point in being discrete, right now. “I miss all of it, but… you always make me feel safe.”

“Unless I’m leaving you standing in tears in the middle of a train station, you mean.” She can’t help it. The memory of leaving Rachel is one of her most bitter, and it’s her own fault. It didn’t have to be that way. She’s lost count of how many times in her life she’s questioned just how good of an influence she is in Rachel’s life. 

“I would have cried, anyway.” This time Rachel does allow herself a light laugh, though it’s more out of relief. “How did my dads seem when you talked to them? I mean, with me being so far from them?”

“They miss you, Rach. Your dad— Hiram— he jokes around a lot, but you can tell that he’s sad. And Leroy is… It’s obvious that they’re both so proud of you. And after I talked to them, they hugged me. Both of them.” Quinn wants to say more, but that would start a whole line of questioning that she’s not sure she can deal with right now. It’s just going to have to be enough, for now. 

“I talk to them every day and I still miss them. I’m so happy to be here, but… I keep telling everyone else the one thing I miss about Lima is the people,” Rachel says. “I just need to get everyone I love over here.”

Quinn rests her chin against her hand. “Nothing wrong with New York getting a little bigger.” Quinn wonders who would be on that list, moving to New York to be with Rachel simply because she loves them. The kind of love strong enough to bring everyone she loves and gather them to her. She doesn’t realize that she murmurs, “You have such a big heart,” out loud, but that doesn’t make it any less true. 

“Yeah, well… go big or go home, right?” Rachel offers Quinn a smile, then stifles a yawn. “I know you haven’t heard about Chicago, yet, but I wish they would hurry up so you can start packing.”

“I’m really starting to think that I would have heard by now if I’d made it.” When Rachel yawns again, Quinn purses her lips. “It’s late. I should let you get some sleep.” 

“You’ll hear from them,” Rachel insists. She doesn’t really want to end the call, but she’s already fighting off another yawn. “Will you call me again tomorrow? I only have one class and it’s in the morning.”

“If you want me to, Rach, I will.” Quinn watches as Rachel’s eyes droop. Even half asleep, she’s beautiful. 

Rachel nods. “I do. Goodnight, Quinn.”

“Goodnight,” Quinn murmurs and then Rachel is gone, leaving Quinn alone in her room once more. She works on not missing Rachel as she clicks out the light and pulls the covers up around herself. 

She tries to sleep, she really does, but what ends up happening is a few solid hours of trying to find a comfortable spot in bed. She finally checks the time. It’s just after three o’clock, and she’s sure that she hasn’t drifted off once. 

When Quinn grabs her phone off the nightstand, it’s not lost on her that this is backwards of how they usually operate. She doesn’t think, she just presses Rachel’s name in her favorites list and listens to it ring. 

Rachel wakes up from a dream where she’s collaborating with Kanye West on her third album. The music from her dreamworld carries over, because it’s coming out of her phone, which is set to play ‘Stronger’ whenever Quinn calls her.

Quinn. Is calling her. At three in the morning.

Quickly, she swipes her thumb across the screen to answer the call. “Are you okay? Did you have a nightmare or something?” she says. Or, she thinks she says. She’s not even sure if words are even coming out of her mouth.

“Rachel, I’m so sorry for waking you up when you have class tomorrow, but I need you to wake up and pay very close attention to what I’m about to say to you.”

Quinn’s tone encourages Rachel to shake the haziness of sleep away, though she’s still trying to ground herself when she says, “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Quinn draws her knees up to her chest. She’s still sitting in the dark, and her heart is pounding wildly in her chest. She’s never done anything like this before. “Nothing is wrong. Nothing happened. I just… I couldn’t sleep, and I need to talk to you. I wish I could do this in person, but… maybe it’s easier this way.” She curls one hand into her quilt and pulls it tighter around her. She takes a deep breath and then— 

“I can’t stop thinking about this week. Leaving you on Monday, and how much it hurt. I cried so hard on the plane, Rachel, you have no idea. And your texts talking about— how I should have been with you. And then that stupid girl kissed you, and—” She needs to calm down. It’s too much, all at once, and she fights to regain control. There’s another deep breath and she rests her head on the wall behind her. “Rachel, I couldn’t even make it one day. I got the tattoo the day after I left you, and I can’t stop looking at it and thinking about yours.” She can hear Rachel breathing softly, waiting for her to get this out, listening to her. She pushes on. “I went to talk to your parents because I need them to know how strongly I feel for you and that this isn’t just… some throwaway summer for me. I asked them if we could… if I could…” God, what she wouldn’t give for a drink right now. She tries again. “Rach, I want to be the one you call when you get your part in a real play. I want to send you things and drive up to surprise you. And, Rachel, the thought you kissing someone else— anyone else— makes me crazy. I want people to know that you have someone back home who—” She grips tighter to the quilt. “Who’s waiting for you.” 

Rachel has no idea that she’s crying until she feels something wet fall on her hand. This was what she’d begun to hope for when they were talking earlier, but she’d forced herself to stop thinking about it, because she didn’t want to put more pressure on Quinn.

But now, now Quinn’s saying she wants more.

“I want all of that, too,” she says, hoping her voice actually works. It sounds like it does, but she’s still a little groggy and she isn’t entirely sure this isn’t part of her dream. “Quinn, I don’t want anyone else kissing me. Well, okay, not outside of scene work. I do have to be professional— but that’s—” She takes a breath so she can focus, “I want to be able to say I have someone as amazing as you back home or in Chicago or California or wherever you end up when you start doing whatever it is you’re bound to do. I want that. I want you.” 

Quinn feels like she might hyperventilate. She’s not sure whether to laugh or cry or run three miles just so she can calm down. She wishes she could kiss Rachel right now. The urge has never been stronger. When her lungs start working again, she says, “I’m not… it won’t be easy. I’m stubborn and harsh, and I can obviously be cold and focused to a fault. We’ll fight. We do fight. And I know that you’re independent and not at all the type of girl who responds to antiquated assertions of ownership, but— god, Rachel— I don’t care. I need to know that you’re mine.” 

“I’m aware of your faults, Quinn,” but Rachel groans as soon as she says it, because it’s a terrible thing to say to someone. “Sorry, I… it’s the middle of the night. But, it’s a good thing, really. And I’m also well aware of the fact that we have friction from time to time.” As tired as she is, though, Quinn’s statement about being hers admittedly turns her on, a little. “I’m willing to agree to terms of dual ownership when it isn’t three-sixteen in the morning.”

“I’ll be sure to hold you to that,” Quinn says, and her nervousness is suddenly gone. Now it’s just her and Rachel, like it’s always been. “God, I wish I were there right now. You’d never even know what hit you, Rachel Berry.” 

“Now you’re just building up my expectations for when you come back to visit me.” Rachel pulls her comforter more tightly around herself and tries to imagine that Quinn is there with her. “So, just to be clear, we’re officially doing this, right? I’m sorry to have to ask, but you did wake me up from a Kanye dream to tell me that you basically can’t live without me.”

Quinn laughs out loud. She can’t help it; she’s thoroughly relieved. Things feel right again, and she’s relieved. “I’m going to let that one slide, Rachel,” she says before dropping her tone. “Seriously, though. We’ve just admitted to agreeing to ‘terms of dual ownership,’ so that sounds pretty official to me. I don’t really care what you label it, as long as I can drive up there and slap the hell out of anyone else who tries to kiss you.” 

“I don’t know if violence is an appropriate response. I don’t really need a history of bailing my girlfriend out of jail for assaulting people who misread my natural charm and charisma,” Rachel teases. “And I think that means we agree on… this.”

Hearing Rachel call Quinn her girlfriend sets a pressure in Quinn’s chest that she’s not expecting. Her heart actually feels… like she’s been drinking, honestly. It’s racing and she just feels tingly and a certain level of general giddiness. She rolls her eyes. “Your girlfriend, hmm? Is that the title you’ve settled on?” She tries her hardest to sound indifferent, when really it’s one of the best things she’s heard in months, right after Rachel saying that she loves her and Beth’s greeting of “Ooooh!”

It’s something she never thought she’d hear, actually. She tries to wrap her head around it. Quinn Fabray has a girlfriend. 

“Yeah. My girlfriend.” All summer long Rachel had to catch herself when she wanted to assign a title to their relationship and now she has Quinn agreeing to the term ‘girlfriend.’ “Well, it’s that or Quinn Fabray, Giver of Amazing Orgasms, but I don’t think you’ll answer to that in a public setting.”

“Oh my god, Rachel.” Quinn is still not completely comfortable with the descriptive sex talk, and as much as she misses Rachel right now, her cheeks are burning. Although, it’s not like she and Rachel are completely new to this. “Maybe you could just shorten it or something. Or just make it something only we would know. Because I would much rather you use some kind of acronym or code or something than accidentally call me that in front of other people.” She smirks. “I know you.” 

“So, I should probably just stick with the first thing then. What was it? Oh right, girlfriend.” Rachel likes it the more she says it, because it suggests that all of this is real, that it’s an actual relationship, not just the two of them trying to make something out of nothing. Which… they failed to do in the first place, because it was never nothing to either of them. “Did you say something about mailing me things or did I imagine that?”

Quinn hums. “Girlfriend or not, that’s not something you need to worry about. Let me handle it.” 

“Okay,” Rachel says. “And I really, really don’t want to go, right now. But I have a nine o’clock class.”

“Okay, Rach. I really am sorry that I couldn’t wait. I’ll still call you tomorrow afternoon if you want.” 

Rachel nods, then realizes it’s pointless. “I do. And… I’m glad you didn’t wait. Really glad, actually.”

Quinn smiles at that. “Goodnight, Rachel,” she says, sliding down into bed, finally ready to sleep. 

“Night, Quinn.”


	37. Candy Coated Big Apple

It’s after midnight and Rachel can’t sleep. As she listens to the sound of Charity’s slow and even breathing, she knows her roommate is sound asleep, having finally drifted off after stressing out over the common audition she has in the morning.

Rachel considers texting Quinn, but then Quinn has work in the morning. Plus, Rachel has this itch, this urge to just get up, put on some jeans, and walk around for a while. She’s not quite comfortable with going out alone in the after hours, though she’d like to be in that place, eventually. For now, though, she gets dressed, then heads down to Kurt’s room. She knows he’ll be up, because he made it clear that he was working on a pattern for a killer pair of pants he keeps referring to as his “space pants,” as they’re designed to make his “ass look out of this world.” He also followed up that description with, “Vulgar, I know. But also the truth.”

She knocks and he answers. She barely has to explain her desire to go out when he has his arm looped in hers and they’re halfway to the elevator.

“Were you sexiled?” he asks, as they wait for the doors to slide open.

“No. Charity’s asleep.”

“Ah. Not an ideal atmosphere for sexting with your girlfriend, then? Ew, actually, not something I want to picture.”

“No.” Rachel slaps his arm. “I just want to go out. Isn’t the whole point of New York City never sleeping so that people like us can go out and find something we want?”

“What do we want?”

Rachel considers this, carefully. “Pixy Stix.”

“Midnight sugar rush? It’s only week one of classes. Watch yourself.” Kurt smile, though, and soon they’re on the ground floor, stepping out into lower Manhattan. “Do we want to make this easy or slightly challenging?” To make his point, he waves toward the twenty-four hour Duane Reade drugstore across the street. “Because you know they’ll have them.”

“Let’s say… we walk and we’ll buy them at the… third one we see.”

“Does this one count?”

“Yes. But then I’m changing it to four.”

“Always agreeable yet difficult,” Kurt muses. “This is your outing. Which way?”

Rachel looks up and down the street they’re on, then settles on the left. “This way.”

They skip the first block together, but then they decide it’s best to pace themselves.

“This is insane, you realize,” he says, laughing as he catches his breath.

“I spent all summer chasing after Quinn. This is tame, in comparison.”

“That had to have been exhausting. I’m sorry, she’s beautiful and I know she’s brilliant, even if it generally manifests as some kind of evil master plan, but what possessed you to even try, in the first place?”

“Why do we do anything? Why did we think we could make it into NYADA? Why do we think we have any chance at being on a Broadway stage?” Rachel asks. 

“Because we’re gluttons for punishment? Fabulous gluttons, but gluttons nonetheless.”

“Because we know we have to try. Otherwise we’d always be wondering what would have happened.”

“Two.” Kurt points out the second Duane Read they’ve passed. “Do you think she’s… do you think it’s going to last?”

“It’s been about forty-eight hours, Kurt.”

“And?”

She doesn’t want to jinx anything. She doesn’t want to presume. She doesn’t want to get ahead of herself.

But if she’s really going to look at it, they’ve been together for longer than a couple of days. They’ve been together for weeks and that was after they circled around the idea for months. Before that, they were playing roles in each others lives for years.

Maybe it wouldn’t be out of line to make a projection. She’s been trying to keep herself in check, so she doesn’t overwhelm Quinn. There are no cat calendars for this relationship (not that she’d recycle any material from her relationship with Finn into this one, anyway).

But she’s has this feeling, this sense of longevity that comes from being with Quinn.

“Three,” she says, waving a finger down the next street to their right.

“And?”

“And I feel like we’re… both invested.”

“Lesbians.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Hummel, but I actually identify as bisexual. And Quinn… well, I know she’s attracted to me, because she has no reservations about—”

“Okay, okay. I don’t need a lecture. Or to hear anything more about Quinn’s sex life. And, thank god… four.”

They duck into the brightly lit drugstore and search the candy aisle until they find a package of Pixy Stix.

Kurt pays because Rachel’s conveniently forgotten to bring any cash on this expedition and then they’re on their way back. By the time they reach the dorms, Rachel’s consumed three of the straws full of sugar and Kurt confiscates the bag.

“I’m cutting you off,” he says.

“Wait, but we have to do something that’s a tradition I just thought of.”

Before he can ask what it is, they’re in the elevator and ascending upward, past both of their floors until they reach the top. Once they’re in the hall, Rachel drags Kurt up the stairs to the roof access door.

“We’re not supposed to go up here.”

“I know. That’s why we’re going.”

“You’re like a gremlin and this is what I get for feeding you after midnight.”

The building is only twelve stories, but they’re still rewarded with a view they’d never have a chance to see back in Ohio.

“Wow.”

“Give me the bag.”

“I told you, you’re c—”

“Kurt!”

He hands over the bag. 

Rachel pulls out two unopened paper straws and passes one to Kurt. “Over here,” she says, moving toward the edge of the building.

“Rachel! Be careful.”

The wall that wraps around the edge of the roof is at least three feet high and Rachel just laughs at him. “Just come here.”

Begrudgingly, Kurt joins her and once he’s convinced that neither of them are going to plummet to their deaths, he realizes it’s peaceful up here. “This is actually nice.”

Rachel tears open her packet of candy. “Make a wish,” she says.

“What?” He never knows what to expect from Rachel, but he follows her lead, anyway, and opens up his own. “Okay.”

Rachel turns the paper straw upside-down and colored sugar spills out before it’s caught in the breeze and blown away. “Now you.”

He laughs and shakes his head, then does the same.

The glow of the city is far too bright to allow Rachel to see the same stars that she was able to view back in Lima. But she is one, bright and ready and amped on flavored sugar, standing with one of her very best friends on the roof of the building they call home.


	38. So Which Base is Skype Sex?

Rachel’s been impatiently checking and re-checking her Skype contacts list, waiting for Quinn to sign on. It’s not just that she’s anxious to talk to her girlfriend, but it’s also Thursday, which means it’s another night for Quinn at the Corcoran house and Rachel wants to hear all about it.

She keeps trying to distract herself by getting ahead on some of her class reading, but she can’t focus. Fortunately, Quinn’s sign-on sound plays through Rachel’s speakers and she’s quick to hit the connect button.

Quinn’s barely seated in the chair at her desk when Rachel’s face comes up on her screen. She runs a hand through her hair— which is in desperate need of a trim— and sinks back. Rachel. Chicago. Beth. All things considered, this has been the best week Quinn has had since she found out she was accepted to Yale, and she can’t keep the smile at bay. 

“Hey, Rach,” she says.

“Hi. I know we just did this on Tuesday, but I’m glad to see you.” Rachel can’t stop smiling. She hasn’t been able to since Monday night, save for a brief interlude during a scene study where she read a Lady Macbeth monologue, and even then, she had to really focus to keep from seeming too happy. “How was dinner?”

“I’m happy to see you too,” Quinn murmurs. She’s still dressed up from her dinner at Shelby’s— a dress this time, and one of the cardigans she used to wear. She’s relaxed a lot in the past few months, but there’s something about Shelby’s expectations and the impression that Quinn needs to make on her that somehow lands her in her old style. She bends and tugs the sash around her ankle free, slipping her foot out of the wedge and letting it thump to the floor. “Dinner was fantastic. We colored tonight. Well, I colored and Beth took all of the crayons out of the box and tried to put them back in.” Quinn quirks an eyebrow as she pulls the other shoe free. “No Charity tonight?”

“That sounds like some quality bonding time,” Rachel says. “And it’s a good sign that she’s already showing indication of a need for organization. I think I like her.” She pulls her hair back into a loose ponytail, because it’s one of those nights where it’s too warm in the room and the thermostat is lodged behind Charity’s desk. It takes the both of them to tilt the desk forward enough for the other to reach back and change the setting. “Charity’s out until late. She said she’s studying with Skylar. Or… Luke? I admittedly wasn’t paying close attention.”

“You think you like my daughter?” Quinn is trying to sound as dry as possible, but it’s obvious that she’s really just watching Rachel smooth her hair back. It’s kind of mesmerizing. Rachel is wearing her necklace— Quinn’s necklace— and now Quinn is aware of the chain around her own neck. “How are your classes?”

“Oh my god, Quinn, they’re so amazing. I’m learning so much and it’s only been a few days. It can already be highly competitive in the performance based classes, but I’m letting that push me. I don’t know if you know how shaken up Kurt and I were the first time we ever saw our competition for this school, but now it just feels like we’re all pushing each other, you know?” Rachel leans against the back of her desk chair. “It’s intense,” she admits, “but I really think it will make me a stronger performer.”

Quinn can only smile. She wants to say so much. How Rachel lights up and looks beautiful when she’s animated like this. How Quinn always knew that she would succeed at this. How she already is a strong performer. She can’t say any of it because it all feels like it would sound terribly contrived, even though she would mean it with complete sincerity. Instead, she leans on her hand and looks into her webcam. “Remember at the beginning of the summer, when you were so nervous to leave Lima and what your roommate would be like? You’ve really come a long way in a few months, Rach.” 

Rachel sounds so completely happy and in her element that all Quinn wants to do is hear her talk more about it. 

“We both have,” Rachel says, smiling softly at the image of Quinn on her screen. “Do you think you’ll ever get the urge to perform, again? At all? You’re so good at it, you’d easily get cast in anything put on in the community theater circuit. And then I could come see you in… ‘Our Town’ or ‘Little Shop of Horrors’ or whatever they’re putting up this season. I haven’t checked.”

“Oh my god, I would love to do Little Shop of Horrors!” Quinn says, laughing. “The style in that musical is unreal. I might look into it, actually. Let me deal with Chicago first and see how that goes.” She takes her cardigan off and drapes it on the back of the chair and then smirks. “I’ll be right back,” she says and then steps out of frame to change into a t-shirt and shorts. The memory of a very drunk Rachel Berry stripping down in front of her to change has not been forgotten, and Quinn doesn’t think it’s entirely necessary for a companion performance, even if they are official now. It’s only been two days, and it’s been almost two weeks since they were together together. 

As Quinn changes, Rachel thinks about how long it’s been since she’s actually seen Quinn in any kind of performance. Their goodbye number to Mr. Shue and the younger members of New Directions was in June. “When do you have to leave tomorrow?” she asks, knowing Quinn can still hear her.

“Saturday, actually,” Quinn says, pulling up a pair of shorts with McKinley in white lettering across the back. “Around 8. And coming back Sunday night. Tomorrow night, I’m actually… Sam and I have plans.” She tugs a t-shirt over her head and drops into the chair again. Once she’s in frame, she smiles and says, “Hi.”

Rachel is often captivated with how easily Quinn pulls off looking gorgeous in anything. Even WMHS physical education apparel. “Hey, beautiful,” she says, wishing there weren’t two flat screens and six hundred miles between them. “I’m glad you’re spending time with him. I actually feel a lot better knowing you’re going out and doing things. And that also reminds me that I need to reply to Noah’s Facebook message. If I can decipher it…”

“Yeah, good luck with that. What about you? Any more parties on the horizon? Should I be expecting a drunk booty call sometime while I’m in Chicago?”

“I told you, I’ve given that up,” Rachel insists. “The drinking, not the booty calls. In fact… I was wondering if…” She chews on her lip as she contemplates what she’s about to say. It’s still just an idea and she hasn’t formulated an actual presentation about it, yet.

The hesitancy in Rachel’s voice, the fact that she’s chewing on her lip, the words she doesn’t say… Suddenly Quinn is desperate to hear it all. Her voice hits that low register when she says, “What? You were wondering what, Rachel?” 

She needs to hear it.

“As much as I enjoy certain textual exchanges we tend to have, I was considering that the face to face interaction we have via the internet might provide a more… intimate experience. If we wanted to… um…” she has to stop or else the next words out of her mouth are going to be something about ‘self-stimulation’ and she realizes that isn’t sexy, at all.

Quinn leans forward and lowers her voice, even though she’s the only one home tonight. “Are you asking me if I want to watch my girlfriend touch herself over Skype, Rachel?”

Rachel’s breath catches in her throat and she shifts in her chair. “Would you? Want to?”

How is it that the Rachel Berry who wears leg warmers with stars all over them has this much sex appeal? It’s unreal to Quinn. She bites her lip and nods slowly. 

“Would you also want to… you know… too?” Rachel knows what she wants to say, but Quinn has this way of making her feel… almost shy… in situations like this. She’s sure it has something to do with approval or control or something along similar lines. She just knows she definitely wants Quinn to be comfortable with this. Whatever it is they’re about to end up doing, that is.

“Yeah,” Quinn breathes. She can almost feel the electricity between them, even when they’re this far away from each other. Rachel has always been an open book, and it’s one of the things Quinn appreciates the most about her— you can tell exactly what she’s thinking most of the time, and right now, she’s clearly aroused. “Your text at that party… you have no idea how much I wanted you to keep going. It almost killed me to stop you.”

“You don’t have to stop me, right now.” Rachel takes a good look at Quinn. She misses her, even though they’re talking to each other. She misses the smell of her shampoo, the feeling of Quinn’s arms around her, the way Quinn kisses the side of her head when they’re watching a movie… she misses everything and this virtual connection they have is a poor substitute for the real thing. But it’s better than nothing at all. “What would you have said?”

Quinn is already running her fingers along the hem of her t-shirt, toying with the fabric. “You said that you wanted to talk about…” Quinn swallows, “…how much you wanted to touch me. And I would have texted back, ‘Tell me.’ I love hearing you talk, Rach. I have no idea how you manage to be so sexy.” She dips her fingers under her shirt and traces lightly over her own stomach. “What would you have said?” 

“I…” Rachel can’t really see where Quinn’s hand is, but she can tell it’s moving. “… believe I would have said something about the way you move when I touch you. And, um, how I really like that.” This is proving to be a difficult exercise, already, because it’s taking everything she has to concentrate on what she wants to say. She uncrosses her legs, then recrosses them. It’s as if she has no idea what to do with herself. It’s already warm in the room and despite her shorts and tank top, she’s sure there’s a light sheen already apparent on her skin, just from the temperature of the air, let alone the way Quinn’s words are heating her up.

“Rachel,” Quinn says in a clear, even voice. “If I were there right now, I would want you in my lap, so that I could be kissing your neck. And you know where my hands would be.” Even though she’s really more of a top, Quinn loves the way it feels to have Rachel straddling her. She concentrates on breathing through her nose and continues to rub the skin just beneath her shirt. Rachel is still shifting in her seat, and even through the computer, Quinn can see her chest moving deeply with breath. “You’re not… nervous, are you?”

Rachel breathes out a laugh and shakes her head. “Not nervous, just a little anxious,” she admits before letting her fingers trail over the front of her tank top. “You turn me on when you’re not even here— or, well, you know what I mean. So, this is… already more intimate than I expected.” She allows herself to picture the scenario Quinn’s just laid out, with her legs on either side of Quinn’s. She usually ends up with her fingers laced in Quinn’s hair, while Quinn’s hands cup her breasts. Rachel’s own hand creeps upward and she realizes this is actually happening, they’re actually about to… “Tell me more.”

“You realize that this is the first time since…” Quinn trails her fingers down the front of her neck. “I miss you,” is the only thing in her brain right now. Well, that and what Rachel’s hand is doing. Quinn’s eyes are locked on it. “Keep going,” she says. “I want to see you…”

She’s comfortable with Rachel— maybe more comfortable than she’s ever been with anyone, and it still feels like these things should be whispered. Not out of shame; out of reverence.

“I miss you, too,” Rachel whispers back. She follows Quinn’s instructions and her eyes drift shut as her palm grazes over her own breast. There’s a light moan, then she forces her eyes back open, because this isn’t going to work if she can’t see anything.

Rachel is so vocal. It’s torture, being able to see her, to hear her moan, and not to be able to touch. 

Quinn bites her lip. Her voice still hushed, she edges closer in the dark. “Harder, Rachel. Please.”

God, she’s already wet and they’ve barely even started.

Rachel’s keenly aware of the sound of her own breathing, which is laced with a whimper when she does what Quinn asks. Again, her eyes want to instinctively close, but she maintains her focus on Quinn’s image. “What about you?”

Quinn drops her eyes. “What do you want? Tell me.”

“I want…” Rachel has no idea how to clearly communicate what she wants, because she’s used to having the ability to touch and guide Quinn wherever she’s needed. This requires more concentration and that’s already a resource that’s running low. But, if anything, this is an exercise in both communication and creativity and she prides herself on both. “You should take that off,” she nods to her screen, then realizes she should clarify. “Your shirt. If I can’t touch you, I should at least be able to see a little of you.” Her own tank top is already coming up over her head, which offers slight relief in the overly warm dorm room. 

Quinn doesn’t comply, at least not at first. She’s slow, teasing Rachel. Inching her shirt up a little at a time. She pushes until it stops just below her breasts so that her stomach is exposed, and then pushes her hand underneath and squeezes, allowing her head to fall back and a breathy “Rachel” to fall from her lips.

It takes another minute for her to drag the t-shirt over her head, tussling her hair and leaving herself breathless, leaving her in her sports bra.

Rachel’s fingers travel along the top edge of her purple and while striped bra as she watches Quinn. “Baby, you’re so sexy,” she says. “I really wish I could kiss you, right now. Especially that spot on your neck that makes you grab my ass.” She’s into this, she’s found a rhythm. She’s also incredibly aroused.

Quinn can’t help the groan that rumbles in her throat. “God, Rach.” She isn’t sure whether it’s Rachel calling her ‘baby’ or saying the word ‘ass’— maybe a combination of both— but she likes it. “Pull your hair down,” she orders gently. Her eyes are still riveted to the hand at Rachel’s chest, ghosting over skin she wishes could feel. “Is that a new bra?”

Rachel tugs the rubber band out of her hair and lets it fall back onto her shoulders. She glances down to look at her bra. “Yeah, I got it over the weekend. Kurt and I did some essentials shopping. Do you like it?”

Quinn stops what she’s doing and raises an eyebrow. “Kurt Hummel is picking out your underwear now?”

“No, I picked this out myself. He wanted to get a proper lounging jacket.” Rachel leans in a little closer to her camera and whispers. “Why are we talking about Kurt?”

“You’re the one who brought him up,” Quinn grumbles. “I wanted to talk about your bra. And how you look in it.” She lets herself appreciate Rachel’s chest. “I do like it. Very much.”

Rachel smiles, pleased with Quinn’s assessment. Her fingertips disappear under the fabric of the bra, and she does her best to keep her eyes on Quinn’s as she circles the peaked flesh she finds there.

“You look amazing,” Quinn tells her. “Everything about you, Rachel. Amazing.” Antsy fingers fiddle with the strap of her own sports bra. It’s not special or new. She didn’t exactly anticipate this particular development between them tonight. It doesn’t make her feel sexy, per se, but it does make her feel fit. And, for Quinn, it has about the same effect. Her eyes still focused on Rachel’s fingers, she says, “That’s so fucking sexy, Rach. Do the other one, too.” 

“Like this?” Rachel asks as she does what she’s told. “I wish you were the one touching me.” She sucks in a sharp breath as she tugs a little at her own nipple. “Actually, I really wish you had your mouth on me.” The thought alone makes her groan in response.

Quinn subconsciously squeezes her thighs together. She makes a decision and tugs her bra up and over her head. “Hang on,” she says and moves her laptop to the bed before peeling back her quilt. She slides between the cool sheets and twists so she’s on her side. “Better,” she murmurs, and adjusts the screen slightly. It isn’t long before her fingers are stroking in a lazy circle around one breast. “Is this… okay for you?”

“Uh huh,” Rachel mutters, then realizes her mouth is hanging open. She’s still sitting at her desk, but Quinn definitely seems to have the right idea. “Do you want me to move to my bed or stay here?” It’s like she can’t make up her mind about anything other than the fact that she doesn’t want to stop watching Quinn.

“However you’re comfortable, Rach,” Quinn says. “This is our first time… doing this, and I need to make sure that we’re both completely comfortable with it.” God, she can’t even touch Rachel’s hair right now. A lot of things are killing her slowly, but that one thing in particular is almost unbearable. She watches Rachel pinching her own nipples, still beneath the bra, and she has to close her eyes for just a second. “I’m so… you’re making me so wet that I needed to not be sitting in that chair,” she admits. 

“Oh my god, Quinn.” The knowledge of that fact has Rachel squirming in the chair, again. “I think I should move. Even though the lighting is more flattering over here…” she trails off as she picks up her laptop and moves to her twin bed. She isn’t sure exactly where to put the computer, but she ultimately ends up in a similar position to the one Quinn’s broadcasting. “I wanted to ask you about something. Though, we can’t actually try it now. But… maybe the next time we actually see each other?”

“You know that you look gorgeous in any light.” The thing is, she’s not just saying it. It’s completely true. Quinn’s fingers move just so and she gasps. Her eyelids are so heavy. “Ask me what?”

“If we could…” if Rachel were speaking to anyone else about this topic in an academic setting, there would be no hesitation. She’s nearly always been able to express what’s on her mind. But this is Quinn, her girlfriend. And she wants to approach this subject delicately, as it’s something new to their physical relationship. “I would really like to, for lack of a better term, go down on you.”

Several things happen at once: the hand that’s massaging Quinn’s breast locks down, and she rolls so that her face is buried in her pillow. Her groan rips through her, raw and loud, even though it’s muffled deep in her bedding. Her other hand slides all the way down her body, past a taught stomach, lower, lower, until her fingers brush against another spot that makes her gasp. She doesn’t want to rush this, she wants to take her time, make it last, but Rachel’s words shoot straight through her and nearly drive her crazy with the need to feel some pressure there. 

“Rachel,” she says, and she feels broken. Shattered. Like there’s a million pieces of her, each crying out to be touched. She rolls back toward her laptop, her hair in her eyes. “I want you to. God, you have no idea.” 

Quinn’s reaction leaves Rachel with wide eyes and, again, with her mouth hanging open. But she wants to see Quinn react more. “I may have actually given it a lot of serious thought recently. And I ended up,” her hand pushes downward, past her bellybutton and under the waistband of her shorts, “in a very similar situation to what’s happening, right now.”

“Oh my god,” Quinn pinches with one hand and cups a little more forcefully with the other. “You’ve been thinking about…” There’s an image in her head of Rachel with her eyes screwed shut tight, breathing hard. Imagining what it would be like to have her head between— “Oh, fuck,” Quinn says and grasps at her sheets with one hand as her hips buck up into the other.

What Rachel’s both seeing and hearing drives her to work her fingers against herself in search of some release. She’s careful, though almost as an afterthought, to pace herself so she can do this with Quinn. “But baby, you should know… in that case, I was thinking about you… doing it to me.”

Quinn’s eyes roll back, and suddenly she’s pulling at her shorts, working her hand down the front. “You want me to…” There’s a flash in her memory, the tent in Rachel’s backyard, Quinn’s face pressed to Rachel’s stomach. Quinn could smell her firsthand, how aroused Rachel was. And afterwards, when they lay in the dark curled together and Quinn had brought her fingers up to her face… She could smell exactly what she’d done to Rachel and it had made her shiver, even though the tent was sweltering. The idea of actually getting close enough again to— “You want me to… taste you. God, Rachel.” It’s enough to make her rub her fingers with just a little more purpose. “Has anyone ever…?”

“No, I…” This would be an incredibly awkward time to bring up the fact that her sexual relationship with Finn didn’t involve anything beyond the main event. So, she just repeats, “No. You’ll be the first.”

At this point, Rachel’s relying much more heavily on the sound of Quinn, rather than the sight of her. It actually works out well, because she’s used to listening for cues, rather than watching, anyway. The sound Quinn makes in response is like liquid electricity shooting through her. “You have no idea what you do to me,” she whimpers, trying with little success to keep her hips from rocking up off the bed. “And just imagine… if this is how I get just thinking about you…” It’s likely the fact that it’s been over a week since they’ve been together in any capacity, virtual or otherwise, but Rachel can tell she’s already getting close. “Quinn… baby…”

Quinn knows that whine in Rachel’s voice. She knows exactly what’s going on with Rachel’s body because it wasn’t so long ago that Rachel was keening up into her from a hotel mattress and whining the same way in her ear before she gripped Quinn’s shoulders and shuddered violently against Quinn’s body. 

She wants to watch Rachel come undone, but it’s getting harder to keep her eyes on the laptop. She moves her hips faster, circles her fingers harder, fights to keep her eyes open. “It’s so sexy that you get this worked up over just thinking about us together like that,” Quinn pants. She knows that Rachel is close and she’s trying her hardest to catch up. If she concentrates really hard, she can remember everything, and for a second it’s almost like they’re really together. If they were, she knows exactly how she’d be touching Rachel, and she needs that to happen. Now. 

“Two fingers, Rach. Inside. Can you do that for me?” 

Her own gasp gives it away that Rachel isn’t the only one deepening their connection. Her hips jerk and she groans, “God, you feel so good. I’m close.”

Rachel nods and manages to breathe out a, “yeah,” before doing exactly as Quinn’s requested. She’s trying to desperately to hold on, listening as best as she can to Quinn, and looking at the screen of the laptop whenever she can manage to force her eyes open. But she’s already on the brink and the intensified contact in tandem with Quinn’s words have her heels digging into the bed and her hips forcing themselves up against her hand. “Fuck,” is the word that finds its way out of her mouth, though she’ll probably deny it after the fact.

Hearing such a filthy word come out of Rachel’s mouth has the most amazing effect on Quinn. She arches up, her back bowing off the bed, and grinds her hips down hard. The noise she makes is somewhere between a grunt and a squeak, and she wants to say Rachel’s name, but she’s too preoccupied with trying to make sure she doesn’t stop breathing. There’s no need for words anymore anyway. The sounds coming through the connection are enough to start the coil unfurling deep inside of her— Rachel Berry working herself into an orgasm is about the sexiest thing Quinn has ever heard in her life. 

They’re just egging each other on at this point, and it isn’t long before Quinn feels herself slipping loose. “Rach— Rachel, I can’t—” She isn’t able to get anything else out before her whole body tenses up and she’s crying out softly. 

“Quinn— I—” Rachel’s eyes are tightly shut and she’s temporarily lost any voluntary control of her body. She feels disembodied, actually, like she’s somewhere above herself, looking down. Her heart’s racing and her lungs keep frantically filling and emptying themselves with air, but the longer she lies there, they begin to slow and even out.

“That was…” Quinn searches for the right word, but there really doesn’t seem to be one. “You’re really good at this.” She lets herself come down and snuggles into her pillow. “I wish I could hold you right now. It’s killing me that I can’t.”

Rachel blinks her eyes open and turns her head so she’s looking at Quinn, again. “Me, too. We all know how I feel about your arms,” she says. “Though, maybe it’s better this way, because it’s absolutely sweltering in here.”

“It was freezing in there the last time I talked to you. And the time before.” Quinn narrows her eyes. “You stole my hoodie.”

“I didn’t steal it. I cared for an abandoned item.”

“Rachel Berry. That is my favorite hoodie. I did not abandon it.”

“Then why did it climb into a box and beg to be taken to New York?”

“You’re so ridiculous.” Quinn pulls her arms over her head and stretches, like a cat. “I want it back. Or at least something of yours in exchange.” 

“You’re welcome to come and get it back. Though, I definitely like having something of yours I can wear. So,” Rachel considers the alternative, “I think I’d rather agree to an exchange.” She can’t help but stare at Quinn’s body as she stretches. “That’s incredibly unfair, by the way.”

“What is?” Quinn plays coy. 

“You, being unrelentingly sexy while you’re untouchable,” Rachel says, still unable to look away.

“I have no idea what you mean. You can’t possibly still feel turned on.”

“Oh, I can’t?” It’s almost like a challenge, but Rachel has no idea if she can actually follow through on it.

Quinn laughs, a genuine laugh that rumbles up through her. “Are you serious right now?”

“I’m serious about the fact that you’re still half naked and I already think you’re incredibly sexy with all your clothes on.” Rachel situates herself so she’s comfortably lying on her side with one arm under her pillow.

Quinn hums. “And this from the girl basically begging me to— how did you put it?— go down on her. I think we should talk about that some more.”

“I don’t recall any begging,” Rachel says, defensively. “If anything, you were getting off on the idea that I wanted you to do it, in the first place. Which reminds me, I have some illustrated literature bookmarked, if you’d like to read it.”

Quinn gapes. “You want me to read internet porn in order to perform oral sex on you?” 

“It’s not pornography!” Rachel insists. “It’s… instructional. With drawings, not… actual photographs. I did have to filter through a lot of other material to find it, though.”

“Oh my god.” Quinn is laughing again. “So, let me make sure I understand. You filtered through a bunch of smutty internet stuff to find your instructional drawings and then… touched yourself, thinking about me doing that to you? Is that right?” 

She would be lying if the thought of it didn’t stir something within her. Again. 

“It didn’t happen the way I’m certain you’re imagining it, but… I suppose that’s ultimately what happened.” Rachel’s not exactly spent for the evening and she has a feeling that, as much as Quinn seems to be amused by all of this, she’s also not entirely unaffected. “I just wanted to be informed, because it would be our inaugural foray into oral stimulation.”

Quinn brings a hand to her face and laughs into it. “I have no idea how you can be so dorky and sexy at the same time. ‘Inaugural foray into oral stimulation.’ And somehow you still manage to make me want to take you.” She looks into the webcam. It’s real again, just like that, and she isn’t laughing anymore. 

Rachel doesn’t even argue with the fact that she’s been pegged as a dork. She knows she’s verbose and overly enthusiastic about things that other people often overlook. “It’s my natural charisma,” she says. “You’re hooked. You can’t help it.”

“You’re right. I can’t.” Quinn raises an eyebrow. “And somehow you being so full of yourself is not only completely warranted, but totally sexy.” 

“Do you think you’re up for another r—” Rachel freezes as she hears the handle to the room turn. The things is, really, she’s just lying on her bed, looking at her computer. It would be easy to pass of as nothing other than a situation where she simply found herself too warm and took off her shirt. It would be easy if Rachel weren’t inclined to overreact to things. 

As the door opens, Rachel quite obviously slams her laptop shut.

“Oh my god, it’s like a thousand fucking degrees in here, what are you—” Charity stops abruptly and squeaks with surprise at the sound of Rachel’s laptop crashing closed. For the first time she actually turns to get a look at Rachel, and—

Well okay then.

“…. Hiiiiii,” Charity drawls slowly, before pointedly looking at a spot on the wall just over Rachel’s shoulder. Her voice wavers between complete amusement and awkward nervousness. “So. Whatcha doin’?”

“I’m just… I’m… was talk—” Wait, will that be too obvious? If she says she was talking to Quinn, Rachel’s obviously giving up the information that she was Skyping with her and then it will be apparently that they were… about to… be intimate. Again. “Reading. I was reading. Articles.” Her phone signals that she has a text message. “I should check that.” It gives her something to do, though it’s also right about now when she realizes she isn’t wearing a shirt. “It’s really hot in here.”

“I’ll bet it is,” Charity chokes, trying her best to keep from laughing. It’s hard enough to combat the smile that’s slowly taking over her face, but watching Rachel try and deal with this situation is like watching a little foal learn to walk. But she hasn’t done anything wrong, and Charity doesn’t want to be an asshole. “Look, I can get lost. If you want to… finish reading. What you were reading.”

The text is from Quinn, asking if everything is okay. “Would that be okay?” Rachel asks, glancing from her phone to her roommate. “I think I was almost done, anyway.”

Charity is completely torn between patting Rachel on the head and giving her an affectionate oh, honey and high-fiving her. “It is absolutely and totally okay. I still owe you ice cream from the McKinley Montage of Mortification, actually. So I am going to… leave this building, and walk many blocks, and go to another building, and get you some ice cream. Because it is… very hot in here. And you can text me when you are done… reading… and I will return. With ice cream. That you totally deserve.”

If she doesn’t leave this room in the next thirty seconds she might actually explode from holding in her giggle-fit.

Rachel offers up a sincere, “Thank you,” then opens up her laptop. The Skype call has disconnected, so she presses the button to reconnect and hopes she isn’t still beet red by the time she shows up on Quinn’s computer screen.

Charity tries to hold back, but she can’t help it. She has to. She has to say it. “Tell Quinn I say hi,” she calls nonchalantly over her shoulder as she pulls the door closed behind her.

She waits until she hears the lock engage before she finally succumbs to laughter.

When she lost the connection, Quinn sent a quick text just to check on Rachel, though it’s obvious what happened. Rachel had let out a panicked squeak, and Quinn had gotten the most wonderful view of a toned arm and a perfectly round breast in a brand new bra before Rachel slammed the laptop shut. Clearly someone had come into her room. Quinn guesses that it was Charity. The idea that Charity Black is seeing her girlfriend topless right now doesn’t exactly make her want to burst into song, but she also knows there’s really nothing to be done about it. 

When her own computer chimes to let her know that Rachel is calling, she pulls Rachel up on video. “Everything okay?” 

“I suppose.” Rachel says, still aware of the warmth on her cheeks. “It was Charity. She left for a while, but maybe we should stick to conversation for the rest of the night.” She smiles sheepishly at the webcam. “I apologize for hanging up on you.”

“It’s fine,” Quinn says and rolls, stretches to pull her shirt up off the floor without getting off the bed. She tugs it down over her head and settles back down. She’s grinning when she says, “It’s a good thing she wasn’t a few minutes earlier, hmm?”

Rachel has no desire to put any more clothes on, at least not until Charity comes back. “Oh god, or what of I hadn’t heard her come in? Were going to need a lockdown checklist and procedure in the future.”

“Or you could just lock the door,” Quinn says in a dry voice.

“I didn’t know the evening was going to take a turn,”Rachel says. “And a locked door won’t keep out the other person who has a key.”

“Maybe not, but it would buy you enough time to at least get your hand out of your pants,” Quinn points out. She smiles. “I didn’t know it was going to either, but I’m… glad it did. I really do miss you.”

“I’m definitely planning to be back in Lima for Thanksgiving. But I was thinking maybe I could also arrange a trip on Columbus Day weekend, since we have Monday off and I don’t have a Friday class. Because I miss you, too. And my dads will be thrilled to have me home when they aren’t scrambling to prepare a holiday dinner.”

Quinn runs the tip of her finger along the edge of her laptop and hums. “Maybe you should warn your dads that I might not let you out of your room the entire weekend,” she murmurs. “Columbus Day, I mean, Not Thanksgiving. You know I wouldn’t miss Thanksgiving, not even for sex. Columbus Day is totally negotiable.” 

“This from the girl who wouldn’t even go upstairs when I invited her over for dinner,” Rachel replies. Quinn’s hypothetical situation has Rachel feeling another wave of arousal and she wonders if it’s just always going to be like this when they’re apart.

“Okay, maybe you have a point,” Quinn says, her blush burning all the way up to her ears. “It’s not like I want your dads to know that I’m— deflowering their little girl. Just like I wouldn’t talk to my mother about it. That stuff is private.” 

“If it helps, they’ll probably have some kind of party to attend that weekend, so we would be able to have some time alone.” As of now, Rachel’s already decided. She’s going to Lima for a weekend in October. Mentally, she’s already calculating how many days away it is.

“I can’t wait to see you.” It almost takes her breath away how much she can’t wait. 

For as much as they discussed how hard it would be to do this, Rachel’s just now realizing how much distance is really between them. “Maybe I’ll look up a countdown clock to keep track of the minutes.” She rolls her eyes at herself. “I know… that’s unnecessary. But I can’t wait, either.”

“I actually think it’s kind of sweet,” Quinn says, and then Rachel isn’t the only one rolling her eyes. “It’s late. Do you have class tomorrow?”

Rachel shakes her head. “No, but I do have a scene study meeting with some people from class. Not until noon, though.”

“I hate to be the one to go, but I have work tomorrow… Do me a favor, Rach? Close your eyes tonight and imagine me there, holding you?” Maybe it’s sappy. Maybe it’s cheesy and awkward and not at all like her usual tough exterior, but she can’t help it. She misses Rachel so much that it physically hurts, and she has to do something or it will kill her. 

“Only if you promise to do the same.” Rachel props her head up on her hand. “Would you show me your tattoo again, before you go? I didn’t really get a good look, last time.”

Quinn hums and holds up her wrist so Rachel can see it. “Do you really like it?” she asks softly. 

“I love it,” Rachel replies. “I really do.” Her tone is quiet and she’s not just talking about the tattoo.

There is so much meaning in Rachel’s voice that Quinn just lays there for a second and takes it in. Finally, she sighs and says, “I’ll call you tomorrow? It’ll be early— between work and the dance.”

“I’m already counting down the minutes.”


	39. Don't Mean a Thing if it Ain't Got That Swing

Sam takes off his fedora to run a hand impatiently through his hair as he paces the Fabray’s front porch. It’s been ages since he’s been here, and this house has always kind of given him a wiggins.

He shouldn’t have gotten her flowers. It was stupid to get her flowers.

He casts a sidelong glance at their hedges, considering just stashing the flowers there so they can decompose or whatever— no one would know the difference— but stops himself. The only thing stupider than buying Quinn flowers and giving them to her would be buying Quinn flowers and not giving them to her.

He rings the bell, then tucks his hands behind his back to hide the bouquet.

When Quinn pulls open the door, her smile is already in place. She hasn’t been dancing in such a long time, and she’s been looking forward to this since Sam asked her. When she sees what he’s wearing, her smile gets even bigger. 

“You look perfect,” she says, and then twirls. Her skirt flares out— perfect for swing dancing— and she’s managed to get her hair into curls that swing loosely when she moves. Her heels are not so high that she’s taller than Sam, but they accentuate her legs perfectly, and she feels… ready to be out. It’s been a while. She notices something behind Sam’s back and tilts her head. “What’s that?”

“You’re gorgeous,” he tells her earnestly, before startling at her question. “Oh, I, um. I got you these.” He pulls his hands back out and thrusts a bouquet of technicolor daisies into her arms.

“I, um. I wanted to get you something, for Chicago, to say congratulations. But apparently there aren’t any flowers that just mean congratulations, so I did some research, and, um. I was going to give you azaleas, because they mean abundance— or at least some people say they do, the websites didn’t always agree— and I thought abundance would be good because, y’know. Everything’s coming up Quinn this week,” he pauses to take a breath, smiling at her proudly. “But then I got to the store and I saw these, and they reminded me of, like, in the second grade, when you learned about photosynthesis, and how flowers get their food, and did the experiment with the food coloring and the water to watch the petals change? And I just… thought you would like them.”

“Sam…” He’s always been the sweetest guy she’s ever known, hands down, and the sheepish grin and the grasp he has on his bouquet of brightly photosynthesized daisies make her lay a hand gently on his arm. “Come inside while I put them in water?”

He shoves his hands in his pockets and follows her into her kitchen. His palms are sweaty; he’s glad he doesn’t have to hold the flowers anymore. He was probably wilting them or something. “How long have you had that?” he asks, jutting his chin to indicate that he’s talking about her outfit. “Now I feel kinda guilty recycling old glee clothes. Even if they are period-appropriate.” He pulls a hand out of his pocket and tucks it under his jacket to show her that he’s wearing suspenders, then snaps it back against his chest.

Quinn arranges the flowers in a vase and fills it with water. “They really are beautiful, Sam. Thank you.” She spends a minute arranging them and then walks them to the table in the foyer, Sam following behind her. Once she’s satisfied with how they look there, she turns and pulls at one of Sam’s suspenders. “You really went all out. Mine is just pieced together from things I already had. I may have slightly altered the skirt to make it flare a little easier when I move. It would have been better if I’d had more time, but I was at Shelby’s last night, and then I talked to—” She presses her lips together. It’s too late to take it back. She could just say ‘a friend,’ but Sam knows all of her friends, and besides, there’s no reason to make it into a big deal. She and Rachel are together. There’s absolutely no reason for her to hide it; she’s just not entirely ready. “I talked to Rachel afterwards, so I just didn’t have as much time as I would’ve liked. I hope it still looks okay.” 

“I said it before, I’ll say it again: you’re gorgeous.” He frowns at the way she stumbled over Rachel’s name. He’s not stupid. “Hey, you don’t have to be, like… I know you guys got closer over the summer. A lot of people are hard on Rachel, but she’s like the sweetest person I’ve ever met. You don’t have to be embarrassed for thinking she’s awesome. She is awesome.”

Quinn’s eyebrow lifts automatically. “She is,” is the agreement, and then Quinn says, “Are you ready? Are we walking?” 

She’s not hiding it, but she’s not ready to talk about it. 

“Absolutely. M’lady,” he says, offering her his arm to take. A thoughtful look passes over his face. “Maybe I should call you something more jazz-y for tonight. How do you feel about ‘doll?’”

She levels him with a look. “Doll?” She links her arm through his and lets him lead her outside, locking the door behind her with their arms still linked together. “I’ve asked before, and I’ll ask again, to borrow a phrase I know you love… What’s wrong with Quinn?”

She’s playing into her old dynamic, and maybe it’s because Sam makes her feel nostalgic, but she’s really happy, in this moment. 

“Nothin’ wrong with Quinn, doll,” he says, in a vague approximation of James Cagney. “I just want everyone to know I’ve got my best girl on my arm tonight. … My best dame? My main squeeze?” He grins at her murderous expression, which he catches out of the corner of his eye. “Or, y’know. Quinn works too.”

“I swear there is something wrong with you,” Quinn mutters under breath and follows him down the drive.

It’s a nice night, and the company is good— they’re at the community center before Quinn knows it, and Sam is grinning even more maniacally. Quinn nudges her shoulder into his. “What?”

“Nothing. Just— this is going to be awesome. Oh, wait, hold on,” he says, stopping in his tracks and digging his phone out of his pocket. “I promised my folks I’d take a picture of us. All dolled up.” He winks at her.

“You should have told me. We could have gone by the studio.” She slides a hand up his shoulder. “This is fine too. Ready when you are.”

He presses his temple against hers and holds his phone out, grinning goofily as he takes the picture. “Ah, man, I didn’t even think of that,” he says apologetically as he releases her. “Maybe we could go by on the way back? Except we’ll probably be all sweaty.” She raises an eyebrow, and he corrects himself immediately. “I mean, I’ll be all sweaty. You will… glisten. Daintily. And with a lady-like glow.”

He turns his attention to his phone so that he can text the picture to his parents. He also sends it to Quinn, in case she wants it.

“Speaking of you and photography, actually. What does you going to Chicago actually mean?” He strides forward to open the door for her, and puts his hand gently at the small of her back as they both enter the community center. They’re playing The Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy of Company B. “Like, do you have to take more pictures while you’re there? Are you still competing?”

“As far as I know, there’s an exhibit opening on Saturday night and then a big reception afterwards. The exhibit runs for a few weeks and then it’s announced who wins the award, which includes a year-long apprenticeship with a critically acclaimed photographer. The apprenticeships are all over the world. It’s a huge opportunity.”

“God, I’m so proud of you. That’s amazing, Quinn.” He holds up his palm, hoping for a high five.

Quinn just stares at him, and when it’s evident that he’s not giving up, she laughs and gives in. “Thank you, Sam.” She leans in, just a little, pressing herself to his side. It’s not quite a hug, and they’re not dancing yet, but she has missed him. 

He takes advantage of her hand against his, tangling their fingers together. Enthusiastically, he drags her away from the lobby and into the main function hall. The place is done up in streamers, with a large banner on the ceiling that reads FLASHBACK NIGHT— they use it about once a month, hosting parties with themed decades or eras. There are tables circling the dance floor and a live jazz band on the stage. There’s a crowd, but the room isn’t packed— the night is early yet. He pulls her towards an empty table, and lets go of her hand so that he can remove his jacket. “You ready for this?” he asks, draping it over the back of a chair and rolling up his sleeves.

She actually really is ready for this. It’s been so long since she’s been able to perform, and while this isn’t really performing, per se, there’s at least music and movement. She bites her lip through a grin and nods, tipping her chin down. When she slips her hand back into Sam’s, she remembers that he’s an okay dancer but a fantastic partner just in time for him to twirl her once, her skirt flaring up exactly like it’s supposed to, and then they’re on the dance floor. 

The band strikes up In the Mood, and he grins widely at her, easily leading her into a basic swing step. The way she’s smiling at him, it feels… he’s trying not to read anything into it, but god, a lot of guys would move mountains to get looked at like that. It’s crazy that they only met back up on Sunday; it feels like no time has passed at all. “When was the last time we did this?” he laughs, shouting a little to be heard over the brass. “Prom? … No, not even. The Hudson-Hummel wedding?”

“Oh my god, it was the wedding. That was— you should know that I was really happy then, Sam.” It’s not quite the moment it could be. The music is just that much too loud, and there’s swing dancing going on all around them. But she hopes that he can sense her sincerity anyway. He deserves to know.

“Happy I had a black eye? Harsh, doll,” he grins, and then they give up on conversation for a while. It’s just too loud, and he doesn’t know about her, but to be honest, dancing kind of takes up most of his concentration. He’s out of practice, and the last thing he wants to do is embarrass her. He wishes he’d practiced a little, so that he could try out some of the more advanced lifts and tricks, but… if he drops her she’d kill him. At one point, the crowd parts a little, and he can see Blaine and Tina on the other side of the dance floor, also dressed to the nines. He pulls Quinn still for a moment and points them out, waving. 

“Not happy about your eye, you dork. But I was proud of you for getting it.” She sees Blaine and Tina and smiles. “Do you want to go say hi?”

“I, um,” he starts, but then the band concludes its song, and slides into Moonlight Serenade. He’s always loved this song. His parents dance to this song in their kitchen doing dishes, sometimes. It makes him think… really stupid things he shouldn’t be thinking. He pulls her closer anyway. “After we slow dance, okay?”

The way Sam’s arm tightens around her waist isn’t quite right. It’s not that it makes her uncomfortable, but it seems… awfully friendly. There’s hardly any space between them, and it just feels like… almost like old times. Quinn sucks in a breath and pulls back so that Sam’s hold is a little looser. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs, realizing Quinn is trying to put more distance between them. Shit, he knows better than that. Quinn 101: No Sudden Movements, Or She’ll Bolt. “This song just makes me think I’m Jack Harkness or something. … You don’t know who that is. Never mind.” He leads her in a lazy circle. “It’s just that it’s easier to talk like this,” he explains, doing his best to gesticulate when he’s got her hand in his. “I’ve missed you.” The one thing he loves most about Quinn is that she never talks to him like he’s stupid, or as if he won’t understand her. He just doesn’t know where to start.

“Sam…” It’s always been so easy with him. They’ve always had this push-and-pull, and she knows that nothing will ever stop him from being there for her. That’s just the kind of guy he is. “You’re right.” She lays her hand on his chest and smiles up at him. “I have absolutely no idea who that is.” 

“He’s…” He totally did not think she would give him the chance to explain this, and now he’s trying to contain his enthusiasm. “Imagine if Puck actually had as much game as he thinks he has. But he’s from the 51st century. That’s Jack Harkness. He’s from Doctor Who. … And Torchwood, but Torchwood kind of sucks, so.”

“How in the world does Moonlight Serenade make you think of some random guy from the 51st century? Would they even still have that song then?”

“No, he, um— he’s a Time Agent, and he goes back to World War Two because he’s trying to pull this con, right? Only he realizes that he’s not the only time traveller, because the Doctor and Rose are there too— don’t tell me you don’t know who they are, I know I’ve explained it to you and I know you were listening because you’re too polite to tune me out— and then he sort of, um. He sort of kidnaps Rose, and he takes her on his ship, and they dance to Moonlight Serenade next to Big Ben and he gives her champagne and woos her and… and you really, really do not care about this story, at all.” He grins sheepishly. “Maybe you should pick the topic.”

Quinn has been lifting her eyebrow all night, it seems. Sam just brings it out in her. “This song makes you think you’re a character who kidnaps people?” She’s teasing now, she can feel the glint in her own eyes, and she knows that Sam can see it too. His grip has relaxed, and the way they’re dancing now is much more acceptable. If Rachel were here right now, she could see this happening and she would be glad that Sam is here, that they’ve reconnected like this. 

Actually, come to think of it, if Rachel were here right now, she would probably be talking Quinn’s ear off about how amazing everything looks and how swing dancing is entirely under appreciated and how Quinn could probably get a spot on the decorations committee if she really wanted to and oh my god can Quinn wear a tie for her sometime? 

And, suddenly, just like that, Quinn is filled with an ache so intense that it actually makes her miss a step. She blushes and mumbles, “sorry,” but the damage is done. Rachel should be here. No. That’s not— Rachel is exactly where she needs to be, and Quinn wouldn’t have it any other way, not for a thousand Flashback Nights. 

“Well, he doesn’t actually kidnap her, he sort of saves her life— she was falling from a dirigible, and—” Sam stumbles as Quinn missteps, and he leans backwards in surprise to get a good look at her. There is no way for him to interpret the expression on her face as she apologizes to him, eyes glued to the floor.

He wants, more than anything, to ask her ‘Hey, where’d you go just now?’ and have her answer him, but she was rarely that open even when they were closest. He settles for second best. “Do you want to take a break and sit down for a minute? I could… get you some punch?”

“Oh,” Quinn is surprised, since Sam seemed so into this slow dance situation. “Sure. Thanks.” They weave their way through the couples on the floor and Quinn sinks down in a chair to wait for Sam to bring the punch back. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be rude,” a familiar voice says, suddenly right next to her ear, “but is this Take Your Favorite Straight To Dance Night for both of us, or is something else going on here?”

Quinn turns in her seat and fixes her eyes on Blaine. “Excuse me?” she asks coolly. 

Blaine draws back, alarmed by her expression. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Or offend you. I was just asking because… you and Sam were… dancing kind of close.” He looks intensely apologetic. “I shouldn’t have assumed. It’s just that— Rachel is my friend.”

Her smile is tight. “Why would I be offended? And why are you telling me this, since your boyfriend is currently her best friend? I know you’re friends.” She also wants to snap that it’s none of Blaine’s business who she dances with or how she chooses to do it, but in a way he’s right. Instead, she sighs and says, “Blaine, I’m not with Sam any more than you’re with Tina. It was a slow dance. That’s all.” 

“I’ve done this all wrong,” Blaine murmurs, looking at the floor. He takes a deep breath, and then meets her eyes. “Hi, Quinn. You look beautiful tonight. I really wish New York weren’t 600 miles away; how about you?” He takes the seat next to her, pulling at his bow tie a little.

There’s a moment’s hesitation where Quinn weighs her options. This could be dangerous ground because she’s not ready to talk about this yet, and clearly Blaine knows. Of course he knows. Kurt Hummel couldn’t keep his mouth shut if he accidentally sewed his lips together while he was working on his latest fashion monstrosity. It might benefit her to have an ally who understands how difficult it is to miss someone so far away. 

She makes a decision and smiles wanly. “Thank you, Blaine. Since you asked, I could do with New York being closer to Lima, yes.” 

If he doesn’t jump on that as an invitation, it’s his own fault. It’s the best he’s going to get. 

Blaine gives her an understanding smile. “Let me guess. She doesn’t know, right? Because every time she talks about how great it is, or how much fun she’s having, or how right it is for her… you feel like you’d be killing a part of her, the most important part of her, to try and take that away? Even if you don’t really, you just want to feel like… like they miss you half as much as they love being there.” He doesn’t seem to notice his pronoun switch.

Quinn isn’t prepared for the tears. It’s overwhelming, when Blaine talks about things she’s felt, things deep down that she’s never told anyone, and how someone might actually know what she’s going through… She blinks, hard, and then says, “I think she thinks that I just… let her go without a fight, honestly. That I don’t literally feel sick that I can’t see her.” 

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, I— hey,” he says softly, pulling out a handkerchief, which— of course he would carry around a handkerchief— and presses it to the corner of her eye. “Don’t; you’ll ruin your look.” He chuckles uneasily. “Kurt’s better at this than I am.”

She takes the handkerchief from him and dabs at her eyes. When she looks up and asks, “Did it run?” He shakes his head no softly. If there’s one thing about Blaine, it’s that everything is soft; genteel. He’s about as starkly opposite of Quinn as you can get. If anything, he’s more like Rachel, and— Quinn’s eyes go wide. “Oh my god. I’m Kurt,” she murmurs, and when Blaine’s eyebrows raise, she laughs. “I’m sorry. It’s been such a long… few months. Kurt and I don’t always— see eye to eye. He might be better at it with other people, but…” She shrugs and hopes he gets it. 

She hands back his handkerchief and says, “Are you two doing okay? With the distance, I mean?”

“I think so. I hope so. It’s almost the opposite of you, though, I think. If Rachel thinks you gave her up without a fight, Kurt thinks…” he trails off and sighs. “He just keeps saying next year, like it’s written in stone that I’ll end up at NYADA with him. Not just in New York; he really thinks that I—” Blaine cuts himself off with a single, self-deprecating guffaw. “I love performing, but I don’t know if I have that in me. It’s one of the best programs in the country. And he talks about it like there aren’t any other options. And it’s flattering, and I want to be near him, but… Gosh. I didn’t come over here to unload on you. We’re supposed to be having fun. It’s just that talking about this stuff? It’s a lot better than holding it in. I sure know I could use someone. So just… you have my number, right?”

“I’m pretty sure I do,” Quinn says. “If not, Rachel will. And I can Facebook you. I’m assuming that you’re saying you’d like to hang out so that we can commiserate together. Do you like Asian cuisine? I’m a pretty decent cook.”

“Well, it’s possible that I might actually enjoy your company outside of the fact that we have long distance in common,” he says with a smile. He looks over her shoulder and gets up from his seat. “Here comes Sam; I’d better let you get back to your… social engagement.”

He slips away, presumably to meet back up with Tina, and Sam is in front of her in seconds, holding two cups of punch.

“Sorry that took so long, there was a line, and— hey. Have you been crying?” Sam turns around and cranes his neck, trying to locate Blaine in the crowd. “Did he make you cry?”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “It takes more than anything Blaine Anderson could pull off to make me cry,” she says, and it sounds so much like her old self, she almost cringes. Sam hands her the punch and she takes it and sips. “You didn’t— spike it, did you? A year ago, I wouldn’t be asking, but you live with Puck now, and—” The look on Sam’s face is enough to make her trail off. 

He tries to cover it up, but that hurt, and he knows it shows. “I would never do that to you,” he says, quietly enough that he wonders if she can even hear him over the music. “I mean, I wouldn’t do that to anyone, but— I would never, ever do that to you, Quinn.”

“Oh, Sam, I know you wouldn’t. It was a joke. I didn’t mean that I think you’re capable of something like that. I’m sorry.” How can she undo this? “Do you want to dance some more?”

He swallows all of his punch in a single gulp. “Trust me enough to try lifting you?” he asks, offering her a hand to help her up.

Quinn smiles, genuinely. “What’s the worst that can happen?” she says and lets him lead her onto the floor. 

They dance for hours. Literally. It’s 10:30 when the band leader announces that they’re playing the last song, and even then, a lot of people linger and beg for encores. They don’t actually make it outside the building until a little after eleven.

“It got chilly,” Sam notes with a frown, shaking his head to get his sweaty bangs out of his eyes. “Here.” Without another word, he drapes his jacket over her shoulders as they start back to Quinn’s place.

“So,” he says slowly as they hit the first street, “I know you’re going to be out of town this weekend, but… do you think church is going to be a regular thing, again?”

“I haven’t given it a lot of thought,” Quinn says carefully. “I would like to, but I also feel like I don’t have a place there anymore. I haven’t decided if I want to visit some other churches and see how it goes. We’ll see.” She pulls Sam’s jacket a little more tightly around her. “Thank you for tonight. I had a lot of fun.”

“You’re welcome. Can I, um… tell you something?” At her nod, he takes a deep breath. “The only reason I kept going to First Presbyterian is because I was kind of hoping you’d show up. Pastor Williams is really…” He thinks, trying to find a nice way to say this, but there isn’t one. “Bigoted. And that’s not… a part of my faith, at all. Maybe we could, like. Look for a new place together?”

It’s all Quinn can do to keep Sam’s pace. She wants to stop walking. She wants to stare at him. “Why didn’t you just… call me?” she asks. The thought of looking for a new church with Sam seems like a big commitment. And like a lot of pressure. “Sam, I— finding a new church is a good thing, I think. I’m just… not sure that it’s a together activity.” 

“That’s fair, I get it, it’s just—” He doesn’t know how to say this. He sucks at this stuff. “Did you ever go to church with Mercedes?”

Oh, brilliant move, Sam. Talk about your ex-girlfriend to your other ex-girlfriend. But this has nothing to do with that, and he’s just trying to get his words out.

“I did, actually. Why?”

“Then you know what it’s like there. What a strong community they have. I know that this is personal to you, and I respect that, but… but church is a together activity. Especially for us. The rest of the world isn’t like Ohio, and I don’t know about you, but I really don’t want to stay here forever. And out there… it’s weird to believe in God. Like. Like really, really believe. I know I’m the odd man out for this sort of stuff, and it’s rare to meet people who… who feel like you do. And you… do.” He stops for a moment, hating how tongue-tied he’s getting. “Puck hasn’t gone to synagogue since the day of his bar mitzvah— he brags about it, actually— but he still calls Rachel his Jewish American Princess, like, all the time. People just want to feel like they belong. Like they’re understood. You shouldn’t have to feel… alone. Not about this. I’m sorry, I’m probably not making any sense at all.” He stares at his feet, then admits quietly, “I didn’t call you because I didn’t want you to tell me I shouldn’t have.”

“No, you’re making perfect sense, actually. And I understand what you’re saying.” This is a whole different conversation than she expected she’d be having tonight. She figured that Sam would spend the evening talking about which Star Trek was better or the merits of learning a completely fictional language that isn’t spoken by anyone else in the world. This is… it’s unexpected and something she desperately needs to hear. “I’m not— I’m not opposed to visiting some churches with you, Sam. And you could have called. I miss you too.”

“We don’t have to if you really don’t want. I just don’t want to go back to not talking to you.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to. I just want to make sure I’m being careful. That’s all.”

“Careful?” he asks. He wants to reach out and hold her hand, because this is… really intense, but he doesn’t want to risk scaring her off again. He lightly bumps his shoulder against hers, instead.

She rolls her eyes. “Oh come on, Sam, this isn’t anything new. Picking out a new church with someone is just… that’s a big step, and I know that we have history. I love your family, and if there’s anyone in Lima I would pick out a new church family with, it’s you. I just… I want to make sure that we’re on the same page here.”

“You know, I’ve lost count of how many times you’ve rolled your eyes at me tonight,” he points out, trying to lighten the atmosphere. “I think we’re in the double-digits.”

She bumps him back. “Maybe if you hadn’t been so ridiculous all night…”

“I’m not ridiculous, I’m… emotionally invested.” He likes the way the words sound on his tongue. He’s been trying, since he moved in with Puck, to talk a little more like an adult. Someone has to.

Quinn laughs. “I’ll have to remember to tell that one to my therapist.” She shakes her head. “Emotionally invested. I think you just proved my point, Sam Evans.”

He can’t help it; he’s so shocked that he stumbles, tripping over his own feet. Quinn has never mentioned her therapy to him casually like that before. There were some nights— back when they were still living in the motel and she’d help him babysit— that she’d make really vague references, but they were never like this. She was never joking about it, like it was just something she did, and not this huge deal that somehow made her a bad person.

He doesn’t know much on the subject, but he thinks that getting to that place is kind of, like, the point of therapy, and he feels honored that she’d share that with him.

“It’s cool, I meant to trip,” he grumbles for her benefit as he finds his balance.

She can tells he’s surprised by her candor, which makes sense. She’s always been withholding of personal information unless absolutely necessary; in fact, she remembers clearly when they first started dating and he’d asked a very casual question about what therapy was like, and she’d laid into him for about twenty minutes on how certain things are meant to be private before storming off and ignoring him for a day and a half. It’s no wonder he’s shocked. 

She smiles and says softly, “It’s okay, Sam,” and she’s not talking about the fact that he stumbled. They’re walking up her front walk anyway, and the night is almost over. Quinn feels fantastic after dancing all night, and she can’t wait to duck inside and see if by some miracle Rachel is still awake and not at a weekend party for once.

She shrugs out of his jacket when they reach her front door. “Tonight was wonderful, Sam,” she says. Maybe he’ll never know how much she needed this, but she tries to tell him anyway, by unguarding her eyes for the briefest of moments. “Thank you.”

Lor menari.

It is the stupidest, stupidest thing to think, but Quinn’s eyes are the very first thing he noticed about her; the very first thing he complimented her on, though he’d been too shy to do it in a language she’d understand. There’s a shine in them now, caught between the moon and her porch light, and it all just feels so achingly familiar, and maybe— maybe—

He leans down.

Before Quinn can react, lips are pressing gently to hers. She only has a second— she remembers this, the way this felt once upon a time. She cared about Sam. It had hurt so much when they ended, the way they ended, and she can feel it all again now.

There’s a sharp intake of breath, and she pushes him back. “What—” She shakes her head, her curls swinging loosely, but it doesn’t loosen her from the grip she’s in. “Sam— I’m not—” 

She has no idea how this isn’t supposed to hurt. And then… Oh god, and then she can see Rachel’s face just like… She isn’t here Quinn knows, but she might as well be. There would be tears of betrayal and then— now Quinn feels sick.

“I can’t,” she tells Sam. “I’m sorry if you thought this was—” She bites a trembling lip. “I’m seeing someone.”

“Oh shit, I— shit,” Sam curses, and Sam never curses, not out of anger like that, “I am so sorry, Quinn.” He takes one large, respectful step back from her, mechanically accepting the jacket she’s been trying to shove into his hands. He shrugs it on and then rubs at his face, completely unsure of how to fix this.

“I am so sorry,” he says again, because he knows Quinn, and he should have known better. There are so few people she trusts, and he is so lucky to be one of them, and even if he’d had a chance— which, apparently, he didn’t— he never should have made a move so early. “I know I just made things weird, and… and I’ll get it, if you don’t want me around for a while, but— please tell me I didn’t just ruin this. I don’t want to have to wait another three months to talk to you again because I was an idiot and screwed things up. I want to be your friend, Quinn. Just your friend; no ulterior motives. I never should have— I don’t know what that was. It won’t happen again.”

“It’s fine,” she says. “It’s fine.” Her voice is mechanical. “I don’t— it’s fine. It’s not you. I just— if this were a year ago, maybe, but it’s not, and Rachel—” Quinn’s eyes go wide and she clamps down. She can tell by the look on Sam’s face, it’s too late to take it back.

A lot of really idiotic thoughts pass through his head, all at once. The loudest of them says something like, ‘Again?! Are you kidding me?’ which is just— it’s just— He doesn’t know what to do with the things that he’s feeling, but then he looks up at Quinn.

There’s fear in her eyes.

She should never, ever be afraid of him.

“C’mere,” he mumbles, before crushing her into his chest. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he knows two things for sure: first, that Quinn could probably really use a hug right now, even if she’d never ask for one, but second, that there is no way he can have this conversation if he has to see that devastated expression on her face. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I just— up until like thirty seconds ago, I was really hoping we were on a date, so I just. I need a second. I’ll get there. I’ll be Supportive Friend Guy, and we’ll talk, but let’s just… take a second.” He laughs breathlessly, though there’s nothing funny about this. “I feel like I’ve stepped into an alternate reality or something. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” He rubs gently up and down between her shoulder blades.

Her laugh is muffled in his chest. She lets him hold her, and even slides her arms up around his neck and hugs back. It’s easier than looking him in the eye right now.

“Please don’t,” she mumbles against him. “I didn’t mean to make you think… We don’t have to talk.” She says it because she has no idea what else she can say. 

He keeps gently smoothing his palm up and down her back, because he can feel her shaking. In his head, it’s like there’s this… movie montage, of everything she’s ever said to him about Rachel, and he sort of watches the puzzle pieces all go together in his head. “It’s like Inception,” he murmurs under his breath, and then gives her an extra squeeze. He has no intention of letting go, yet. “Are you saying that because you don’t want to make me feel bad, or because you really don’t want to talk about it? I…” This was so much easier when it was, like. Telling Kurt he’d sing a duet with him. He never dated Kurt. “Nothing’s changed, okay? You’re safe, and it’s okay.”

Quinn swallows. She’s not crying; she’s just kind of numb. She just admitted her relationship with Rachel to someone who isn’t her therapist. To Sam, of all people. Sam who just kissed her. “What do you want to know?” she finally asks.

The edge in her voice kind of makes his teeth hurt, which is weird, but— he can’t explain it. “Hey,” he chides gently, leaning back a little because he thinks she needs to see his eyes when he says this. “We don’t have to talk about this. I can go home, if you want me to. I’m not gonna force you to do anything, or tell me anything you don’t want me to know. I just…” He keeps flashing back to stuff Mom would tell him, when she let him babysit Stevie and Stacey for the first time. How you’re supposed to use “I” statements, and not “you” statements. He doesn’t think Quinn would take it very well if he said something like “you look terrified right now,” even if it’s true. 

“I don’t want to walk away from you right now if there was something I could’ve done to help and I didn’t do it, okay? I want to know how to”— make you feel better— “help.”

“You don’t have to help me, Sam. I don’t exactly know how to talk about… this, but that doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. I’m actually happy for the first time in a long time.”

He sees an opportunity and he grabs for it. “She makes you happy?”

Quinn’s breath catches because the way Sam says “she” is somehow incredibly tender, and it makes this moment feel less terrifying. Sam has always been safe. He’s always taken care of her, and she’s taken care of him, when he needs it. It’s the way they work. If she can’t talk about her own girlfriend to Sam Evans, then maybe they shouldn’t even be together. Rachel isn’t a hide-in-the-dark kind of girl. She’s a shine-like-a-star-in-front-of-the-whole-world girl, and she deserves to be with someone who is proud to be with her. This is where it starts, right here. Quinn takes a deep breath and says, “She really does, Sam.” It’s quiet, but perfectly clear. 

“That’s good. All I’ve ever wanted is to see you smile, Q.” He removes one hand from their embrace to chuck her lightly on the chin, hoping he comes across as debonair and Humphrey Bogart-esque. All of a sudden he realizes he’s, like, still wearing a fedora, and it occurs to him that it’s kind of silly to be doing this outside. He takes a glance around, listening to the crickets, then turns back to her with a soft grin. “I’m gonna make you take my jacket back, in a minute. It’s still chilly out here.”

“I’m fine,” she says, smiling. It doesn’t feel quite so much like she’s in front of a firing squad. She can feel Sam taking care of her, and she softens. “Go ahead. Ask me.”

He takes his hat off, because he feels like a dork to be wearing it during a conversation like this. “Have you… been together long?” He stares at the felt in his hands, and on second thought, smiles and perches it jauntily on Quinn’s head. “There. That’ll keep you warm.”

“That’s a difficult question to answer,” she says slowly. “It’s been official since Monday, I guess, but it’s been… happening for a lot longer than that. Most of the summer.” She tugs the hat down lower over her eyes, just to have something to do. “Are you— disappointed in me?”

He’d been amusing himself with the thought that when she’d gone out with him, it was just the same way— they went out on dates for like two months before she’d stop snapping at people who dared assert they were “dating”— and the question catches him completely off-guard. “For what?” he breathes.

A perfectly sculpted eyebrow arches. “For being in a relationship with another girl, Sam. People in our circles tend to frown on that.” 

“Oh, for— jeez, I thought you meant was I disappointed you didn’t kiss back, or something. Quinn. No. That’s why I— I don’t want those circles! We spent the whole walk back talking about how I don’t want those circles.” He pauses for a moment, because if he says ‘circles’ one more time he’s just gonna confuse himself. “That’s not a part of my faith, Quinn, I told you that. It’s not a part of any decent person’s. There’s nothing to be disappointed in. You haven’t done anything wrong.” He ducks down, trying to catch her eyes despite the fact that she’s avoiding his gaze. “Tell me you know that.”

“Of course I know that, I just— it doesn’t make it any easier for me to know that people I’ve known and trusted my whole life look at me like I’m some kind of… And the worst part is, they don’t even know her. They have no idea how sweet or funny she can be or how insanely talented she is. All that matters to them is that she’s a girl, and I just—” She looks up at Sam. “This isn’t just an experiment for me,” she admits. “I really care about her.”

He grabs her gently on her upper arms, because he can’t help but feel like she’ll bolt any minute if he doesn’t— even though there isn’t really anywhere for her to go. He gives her his best calming smile. It’s probably also his geekiest, but she likes that about him, so. “Quinn. D’you remember what I said about Rachel? It was only, like, a few hours ago. Just a few short paces from here, even.”

“That she’s Puck’s Jewish American Princess?”

He rolls his eyes. “Before that. Before we left, when you said you talked to her last night.”

“I remember, Sam. She is the sweetest person. She can be… caught up in her own thing sometimes, but she genuinely cares about other people in a way that no one else really does.”

He sighs. She’s so stubborn sometimes. “Quinn,” he says as patiently as he can, “I meant the part about… thinking more about what others think of what you feel about Rachel than thinking about how you feel about Rachel.” He closes his mouth and mentally repeats what he just said, hoping it made sense out loud. He thinks it did. “I’m not… saying this should be easy for you, or that your concerns are unfounded. I know how real they are. But do they matter? If she makes you happy? You know better than them, anyway. I know I’m just one dude, and maybe my being okay with it doesn’t matter that much in the long run, but… that’s where you start, right? I’m all ears and I won’t judge. You don’t have to hide this.” He gives her an encouraging smile, hoping against hope that she’ll open up to him. “Tell me about your Rachel.”

This is almost too much. She hugs him again and his hat tips up on her head. “Thank you for not being a jerk about this,” she says into his neck. When she pulls away there are tears in her eyes. She’s officially completely accepted by someone who means the world to her. “If Puck found out, I can’t even imagine the things he would say.” She wipes at her eyes. “As for what other people think about her, they can say what they want to me, but I would crucify anyone who put her down. She doesn’t deserve anything but love.”

“I know this may come as a shock to you, but I tried to kiss you because I, y’know, like having you around and think you’re pretty rad. It’d be pretty dumb of me to…” He purses his lips, not wanting to sound like a different kind of jerk. “I can be your guy, you know? That’s more than good enough for me. I’m just happy you want me around. As for Puck… I won’t tell anyone about you unless you ask me to, cross my heart, but… he may surprise you. He’s not a bad dude, at all. But Quinn… you don’t deserve anything but love, either. You can’t… that’s not how it works. Rachel’s probably the best person I know, but it doesn’t mean she’s a better person than you.” If this were a year ago, he’d probably add something about how we’re all worthy in the eyes of God, but clearly Quinn’s not really on the same religious wavelength as him tonight.

“You want to… be my guy,” she echoes in a hollow voice. It’s just not something she was expecting, and her eyes are still wet, and her arms are still around his neck. “Sam, that’s… I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have in the role.” She smiles up at him and fiddles with his collar. “On second thought, maybe you should tell Puck and get it over with. That way I don’t have to listen to him make a bunch of sexist remarks about his baby mama and his Jewish American Princess because I really just couldn’t handle that right now. That can be your first duty as… my guy.” The tone of her voice is light, relieved. Sam is back in her life. He’s taking care of her again, like he always has, and she’s lucky. 

He gives her a sloppy salute. “Mission Accepted, m’lady.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Honestly, though, I think he’ll say something about how now his baby has three mamas, and then use that as a reason to complain some more about how you haven’t sent him enough pictures of Beth. Because the ten jillion you’ve sent in the past two weeks aren’t enough, apparently.” As an afterthought, he adds, “She’s so cute, though. I will not complain if you send more pictures, either.”

And, just like that, Quinn is beaming. “She is really cute, isn’t she?”

“She smiles like an Ewok. All buck-toothed and stuff.” He dodges out of the way before she can hit him. “That was a compliment!”

“My daughter is not an Ewok.”

“I didn’t say she was an Ewok, I said she smiled like a— Quinn, that HURT.”

“Just— stop talking. Now. And come inside with me so we can watch a movie or something. Since you’re my guy, it’s the least I can do.”

He frowns. “You’re not gonna… doesn’t Rachel wake up at like, dawn every day? I figured you’d want to catch her. I mean. Not complaining. Love the movie idea. But you’re going to Chicago tomorrow, so I don’t want to… be third wheel guy if there’s someone else you’d rather be talking to. My ego can take it, promise.”

“Actually, I do need to talk to her tonight. About… what happened.” Quinn puts the fedora back on Sam’s head. “So, maybe we can take a raincheck and hang out when I get back? She might be mad at me, and if she is, I’ll be horrible to be around.”

His cheerful expression falls. “Okay, first of all, I just want to say again that I’m really sorry, for doing that. But, um— it doesn’t have to be a big deal, okay? Take it from someone you’ve cheated on: you didn’t cheat tonight, at all.” He winces when he hears how that sounds out loud. “Oh my God, I think that’s the douchiest thing I have ever said. Why do I talk? I promise that was supposed to make you feel better. … Somehow. I’m sorry, I’ll go.”

Quinn feels like she’s been slushied. She takes a step back and stares for what feels like forever, but it can’t be. It might only be a second, but it hurts so badly that it might be so much longer. She knows the look on her face, and she fights to hold in her tears.

Her voice wavers when she says, “I deserved that. Be careful going home, Sam.” And then her door is open and she’s stepping inside. She needs it to close now, before her tears burst free. She won’t cry in front of him, not tonight. Her “goodnight” is said through the closing crack in the door and then it’s finally done and she’s alone. She wraps her arms around herself and climbs the stairs as quickly as she can. 

She makes it to her room before the dam breaks, and the knowledge that she has to call Rachel and tell her what happened now only makes her cry harder. She cries into her pillow until she’s hoarse and just can’t cry anymore. 

And then, she reaches for her phone and the messages waiting for her— The first one is Sam’s picture that he took just before the dance, the one of them all “dolled up,” and Quinn’s eyes water again, but then when she sees the next one— from Blaine— and all it says is “Courage,” she loses it again completely. 

She lets the tears come for as long as she can, and then it’s time. It’s time to call Rachel and tell her what she did.


	40. I Kissed Someone Else But I Really Want You

Quinn dials Rachel’s number and presses the phone to her ear with a shaky hand. 

When Rachel picks up, Quinn breathes deeply and asks, “I know it’s late, but… can you talk?”

It’s a little odd that Quinn’s asking if Rachel can talk because she’s been waiting for this call all night. “Of course, baby. How was the dance?” The phone beeps in her head, signaling a text message. “Oops, hold on a second. That might be my dad.” She pulls the phone away so she can look at it, but it’s a message from Sam. 

‘I really screwed up with Quinn tonight, and she won’t answer my calls. If she talks to you, just. Please make sure she knows she didn’t do anything wrong. I promise she didn’t do anything wrong.’

She quickly replies that she’s talking to Quinn, then puts the phone back to her ear. “Is everything okay?”

“I… kind of need you to tell me that, Rach,” Quinn says, and her voice is so low and scratchy from the crying. “I did something— Something happened tonight.” There’s really no easy way to say it, and Quinn just needs to get it over with. “Sam… after the dance, Sam kissed me.”

Rachel isn’t in her room, because the temperature is still either one extreme or the other and the much more temperate coffee shop across the street from Flynn offers a wide variety of herbal teas. So, she’s sitting at a small table in the back, with the book Quinn gave her back in Lima sitting open on the table in front of her. “I’m sorry… I’m across the street at the cafe and people are talking. Did you say he… kissed you?”

“Rachel, I’m so sorry. I had no idea it was going to happen, and it was so fast. I didn’t kiss him back.” She can feel more tears surfacing in her eyes, and she says it again, “I’m sorry.”

“Quinn,” Rachel has no idea how she’s supposed to feel. Anger? Is that fair? Is she even angry about what Quinn’s telling her? All she knows is that Quinn sounds incredibly upset about it. And suddenly, Sam’s message makes a lot of sense. “He thought you were on a date,” she realizes. This is the exact same thing that happened to her. Only, Quinn and Sam have a history and… “I even gave him my blessing. Or… at least said that I hoped you two had a good time.” This is funny, though she doesn’t dare laugh about it, right now. “Are you okay?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” Quinn admits. “I really have no idea. We were— we had such a good time dancing and everything was fine and then he was kissing me. I pushed him off, and then… we talked about you.” She takes a shaky breath. “I told him about us.”

“You did?” That’s honestly of more interest to Rachel than the uninvited kiss.

“I had to, I mean,” Quinn runs a hand through her hair. “He kissed me, and all I could think about was you and how hurt you would be. Rachel, I feel so horrible. I didn’t want to kiss him, I swear. He’s been texting me all night and I haven’t responded.”

“Quinn, I don’t even care that he kissed you.” Rachel quickly reconsiders her statement. “Okay, I would prefer it if everyone else would keep their lips off of my girlfriend, but… honestly, well… I’ve been there.” She lets herself laugh, just a little, because the humor is there, regardless. 

“I don’t— are you seriously not angry?”

“Do you want me to be angry?”

Quinn makes a frustrated noise. “Of course I don’t want you to be angry. I also don’t want to have kissed someone who isn’t you. But it happened.”

“I’m honestly not angry about the fact that Sam kissed you. I will, however, be terribly unhappy if you proceed to dwell on this for the next several days, when you didn’t do anything wrong.” Rachel sighs. “You said you talked to him about us, right? So… he knows you’re my girlfriend?”

Quinn laughs into her pillow, despite her negative emotions at the moment. “Yes, I told him about us. I might not have used the word girlfriend, but he knows that we’re together. He said that you’re the best person he knows. He’s completely supportive.” She tugs at a strand of hair. “I might have— I may have even told him he could tell Puck. I hope… that’s okay.”

“Oh, god. Who knows what kind of messages either of us are going to get from Noah, now.” Rachel rubs her hand over her eyes. “I’m glad they know, though. I… was never a fan of having to keep the fact that you’re so important to me from our friends. And… now that they do know, I can count on Noah to take care of things if Sam ever makes another move on you. Or anyone else, really.”

“You want Puck to beat Sam up if he makes a move on anyone?” Quinn can’t help it. Now that she knows Rachel is okay, she’s calming down a little, and teasing Rachel is always a good thing. But there’s something she needs Rachel to know. “I never wanted to keep you a secret. I might not know how to talk about things, but… I’m not ashamed of you.”

“I know you aren’t,” Rachel says. But it gives her a warm feeling to hear Quinn actually say it. “We can just keep taking this one step at a time, okay? If you want to take small steps, that’s fine. But I wouldn’t be opposed to walking quickly from time to time, either. Is this… metaphor even making sense?”

“And by walking quickly, you mean…?”

“Small steps over a shorter period of time instead of big ones every now and then.” Rachel shakes her head. “I’m not even sure what I’m trying to say. I just want you to know what I don’t always need the big gestures. I like the little ones, just fine.” Like earlier today, when Quinn posted a YouTube video of ‘Superstar’ by The Carpenters. It probably went unnoticed by everyone else, but Rachel couldn’t stop smiling when she saw it, despite the melancholy tone of the actual song. “Unless it’s an anniversary. Then it’s something that sparkles.”

Quinn hums. “Well, if it’s an anniversary… I like things that sparkle, too, Rach.”

“It’s a good thing I brought my Bedazzler with me, then.”

This time, Quinn’s laugh is full and genuine. Happy sounding. Rachel is one of a small pool of people who can actually have that effect on her so quickly. Just a few minutes ago, she was sobbing and now she’s cracking up into her pillow. “You’re going to Bedazzle me an anniversary present?”

“Bedazzling is a legitimate art, Quinn,” Rachel huffs. “And, maybe I am. As of Monday, it will be one official week. Maybe you should expect something in the mail.”

“Rachel. We are not one of those couples that celebrates every single tiny little thing.” But now that Quinn is thinking about it, she doesn’t want to be the only one with something to look forward to in the mail. And then, because she’s still thinking about it, “I really wish that you were still the last person I kissed. It’s killing me, Rach. Not to be able to kiss you, especially now.”

Rachel completely understands Quinn’s position on this. “You know, we’ve both been kissed since you went back to Lima. So the next time we do, it’ll be kind of a first kiss. Again.”

Quinn breath catches. “How are you so romantic?”

“My girlfriend is a bit of a cynic, so one of us has to keep the torch of romance burning bright,” Rachel replies. “Also, said girlfriend is absolutely stunning and manages to look sexy in just about anything. It really isn’t incredibly difficult.”

“The torch of romance— it hasn’t even been a week, Rachel,” Quinn says. “And… you think I look sexy in… anything?” It’s been a long night for Quinn. She’s danced for hours, she’s been kissed by an ex-boyfriend, she’s heard her girlfriend be possessive and forgiving of her in the same breath. Rachel thinks she’s sexy, and is currently in a very public place trying to study. There’s an idea that’s starting to buzz in the back of her mind. It’s either a very bad idea or the best idea she’s ever had in her life. All she needs is the tiniest green light from Rachel…

She decides to test the waters by stretching. She arches her back and pulls her arms, and the sound it forces out of her mouth is one that Rachel has reacted to in the past, usually after they’ve both come down from the highs they tend to give one another whenever they’re together. She adds a soft gasp after, and waits. 

“Anything. Or absolutely nothing.” Rachel leans against the back of her chair as she listens to Quinn through the phone. “What are you… doing?” she asks. She knows that sound and she has a feeling Quinn’s up to something.

Quinn can tell by Rachel’s voice that she definitely has her attention. “Hmm?” she asks lazily, running her hand up under her shirt. She’s been so upset over what happened with Sam that sex has been the last thing on her mind tonight, but now with Rachel hanging on every sound, it fuels something within her, and she needs this connection. She might not be able to kiss Rachel tonight, but there are other ways to show her that she’s the only one on Quinn’s mind. She ghosts her fingers over the waistband of her skirt, and then she’s up and tugging it down over her hips. The rest of her clothes come off just as quickly, and she’s back on the bed, murmuring into the phone, “I was just… changing.”

“Oh?” Rachel’s voice lilts as she crosses and uncrosses her ankles under the table. The cafe is about half full of students and other patrons, so she drops her tone when she asks, “So, what are you wearing now?”

Quinn stretches again, feeling the cool sheets against her skin. “A smart girl like you ought to be able to guess that easily enough,” she says. She’s always surprised by how low her voice gets when she’s talking to Rachel like this. She cups her own breast and gasps into the phone a little more loudly. “Rachel,” she breathes, and when she hears the change in her girlfriend’s answering breath, she knows they’re in business.

Rachel’s glad she opted to sit back in the corner and not closer to the counter. “I’m going to guess the answer is… nothing?” Just the thought of Quinn undressed on the other end of the line sends warmth creeping up Rachel’s cheeks. The table closest to her is empty, but there’s a group of four people from her movement class sitting less than ten feet away.

“Mmm,” Quinn hums again. “Intelligence is sexy.” She’s pinching at her nipple now, and groaning softly in Rachel’s ear. “I can stop… if you want me to.”

“Definitely don’t stop on my account. I just… have to keep… working on my notecards.” Fortunately, Rachel’s never without color coded index cards in her backpack, so she’s actually able to flip through them as she talks, to validate the one-woman improv she’s now performing for the benefit of those around her, so they aren’t aware that she’s listening to her girlfriend… do… whatever she’s about to do…

“I won’t lie— I really wish you were working on something else right now.” Quinn punctuates the word ‘else’ by dipping her hand low enough to send sparks up through her body. She arches again. “Oh god, Rachel. I need you.”

Rachel’s breath pushes out in a sound that can almost be disguised as a laugh. “That’s… I can agree to those terms. Please continue. I’d very much like to know more.” She busies herself with writing something, anything, down on one of the blank cards.

Quinn has never done anything like this before, and it’s making her feel indescribable. If she thought making out with any one of her ex-boyfriends and stopping them was a power trip, the way that she’s currently holding Rachel captive is really working for her. She continues gasping and moaning softly, every time her hand brushes against herself. “You have no idea how hot it is to hear you trying to sound business-like when you know that I’m laying here right now, naked and touching myself so that you can hear me. I wish it were you touching me,” she says.

“I… I…” Rachel closes her eyes in an attempt to ground herself. She clears her throat. “I can understand how that would be beneficial to you.” Forcing her eyes back open, she returns to making notes. “Could you please elaborate on the… technique you intend to implement, in this case?”

“God, it feels so good…” Quinn murmurs and then she smirks because she has every intention of working Rachel over. “My technique? Why don’t you… oh god… why don’t you tell me what you want me to do. Do you think you can—” she gasps, “find a way to do that for me, Rachel?”

“Seriously?” Rachel isn’t sure how she’s going to do this, but she certainly isn’t going to back down from a challenge. “All right. I…” She takes a deep breath as she considers her approach. “I would think that we possibly need to rely on previous information gathered from our earlier… engagements. Is there one that you feel might be most relevant to our current discussion?”

“I can’t stop thinking about… fuck, Rach— about how I took you that day after paintball. I remember it all the time and, god, it never fails to get me wet. You just… responded. So sexy.” Quinn tries to get her breathing under control. She’s already getting close, and she hasn’t even heard Rachel try to talk her through this yet. She remembers Rachel thrashing, grasping at the sheets with one hand, and her eyes roll back. “I need to feel that again.”

When Quinn curses, two index cards pop up out of Rachel’s hand. “Are you… have you been considering that this entire time? I mean, is that meant to suggest that you…” This is getting increasingly more difficult, because the more Quinn talks, the more Rachel’s turned on. “Are you in the same state of preparedness as you’re leading me to believe you have been in the past?”

“God. Yes. More prepared.” Quinn’s hips pump and she hisses. “Wetter.”

“Okay,” Rachel does her best to hide the inevitable groan behind her cup of tea. She doesn’t know that it really works, but no one’s looking at her and she feels confident to continue. “What’s going to need to happen, what I’m going to need you to do, Ms. Fabray, is apply the exact same approach in this situation as you did on the day in question. Just, make any necessary allowances.” She’s doing her very best not to actually imagine Quinn with her hand between her legs, eyes shut tightly, as she pants Rachel’s name. Because… that would really cause her to lose focus.

Quinn cries out softly at Rachel’s words. “You want me to…” There’s only the slightest hesitation before she finishes the sentence, enough time to decide that whatever effect it’s bound to have on both of them is worth the vulgarity she’s about to adapt. “… to fuck myself like I did you that day?” 

The first time Rachel tries to agree, no sound comes out of her mouth. The second attempt yields a, “Yes. Please.”

“Oh god, Rach.” Quinn groans at the pleading in Rachel’s voice and doesn’t hesitate any longer to comply. She remembers exactly how she moved her hand, exactly the force, exactly the speed. She remembers how Rachel came apart all around her, and her hips come off the mattress once more. “Rachel.” She’s trying to listen to her girlfriend’s breathing so that she can take it and make it part of this experience. It fuels her arousal and her hand works harder. “God, Rach, I’m so close.”

“It sounds like you’re about to come… to a very similar conclusion as I did. I… definitely came… to mine rather… hard and fast, given your previous persuasiveness.” A smirk manages to work it’s way across Rachel’s lips. “And, I’m fairly sure I have some further work to do later this evening and should come… fairly quickly… to a satisfactory resolution. At least, temporarily.”

Here Quinn is, working her hand fervently against her body in the exact way that Rachel told her to, ready to finally get there so that Rachel can hear it happen, and here Rachel is telling her in no uncertain terms that she’s going to go home later and think about this and… Her hand thrusts that much harder. “I wish… I… wish it were me… touching you tonight,” Quinn pants, and then, “Oh, god, Rachel, I’m— god…” And then she isn’t saying anything because her jaw is locked tight and her back is bowing up in the middle and her eyes are screwed shut. 

Rachel doesn’t reply, because all she wants to do is listen to the sounds of Quinn unraveling one the other end of the line. Even with tinny sound quality, it’s still incredibly sexy and she’s having some difficultly remaining still in her seat. “I wish that, too,” she finally says, voice quiet.

When she finally is able to catch her breath, Quinn rolls so that the phone is trapped between her ear and the pillow and she won’t have to hold it. She hums and smiles and lets herself be, for once. “Mmm, are you okay, baby?” she asks. 

Rachel loves the way Quinn sounds when she’s content, particularly just after sex. “I’m… fine. I just hope my roommate has gone out for the evening.”

“I do too, Rach. I want you to feel as good as I do right now. When are you going… home?”

“Soon, I think. Why? You want me to call you when I get there?”

“If you want to… I wouldn’t complain. Just to make sure you got home safely.” Quinn pulls her quilt up so that it’s covering her from the waist down. 

“Safety first, right?” Rachel gathers up her notecards and her book, then slips them into her book bag. “I’ll call you in a little bit.” She hesitates, then says, “Quinn?”

Quinn is already starting to doze, but she does want to make sure that Rachel gets home safely. When she hears her name, she says, “Mmm yeah Rach?”

“I really love The Carpenters.”


	41. We Fabrays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Given that this was part of an RP that has since been removed from the internet, some of the transitional information between this chapter and the last has been lost. So, just know that Quinn went to Chicago as part of her photography competition, which is why she's now being picked up from the airport. :) Thanks for sticking around to read this much of the story.

Quinn picks up her bag from the baggage claim and heads outside. There’s a fifty percent chance that her mother isn’t here to pick her up, and Quinn tries to set her expectations accordingly. The Columbus airport isn’t that big, and there are maybe ten cars out front. None of them her mother’s Camry, so she sits down on a bench to wait. She’ll give it ten minutes and then she’s calling Sam to come and get her. 

Judy’s been in Columbus for at least an hour, with most of that time spent at the Applebee’s next to the airport where she nursed a single scotch and soda while she waited for Quinn’s flight to arrive. As she pulls through the passenger pickup zone, she watches for her daughter. It’s practically the middle of the night and she hopes Quinn has been wise enough to wait next to a security officer.

The Camry is barely stopped before Quinn is tugging at the back passenger door. Once Judy unlocks it, Quinn shoves her suitcase in and slams it closed before getting into the front. They get all the way out of the pickup zone, and Quinn’s mother merges into traffic before Quinn says, “You’re late.”

“I arrived too early, so I had to wait somewhere to pass the time,” Judy says, checking the rearview before fiddling with the radio. The volume remains low, she just changes the satellite station from conservative talk radio to the Christian music station. “How was your flight? Did they feed you? They don’t really serve meals on short flights. Do you need to stop for something to eat?”

Quinn fixes her hair in the flip-down mirror behind her sun-visor. It’s somewhere between long and short, and she’s starting to need a trim. “I’m fine, mom. I don’t need anything.” There’s such a palpable tension between them lately that Quinn almost wishes she’d asked Sam to pick her up instead. Her mother had started this new part of their lives with good intentions, Quinn knows, but things get out of hand easily, and day after day of not talking about things has just made things seem completely impassible. She waits for as long as she can, biting her lip, before she says, “Mom? Can we… talk?”

It feels off somehow, like she’s not really saying the words. She’s not even sure what she’ll say to her mother, but she has to try something because this just isn’t working anymore. 

Judy sighs, and it’s apparent where Quinn picks up her signature display of annoyance, because there’s an eye roll to accompany it. “For goodness sake, Quinn. It was one watered down drink.”

Quinn turns and stares at her mother for the first time since she got in the car. “Mom, it’s always one drink. And you’re driving.” She actually wasn’t going to bring up her mother’s drinking again tonight because it seems like when they do talk, that’s all that ever really gets discussed, and there are other things happening in Quinn’s life. Things she would have needed her mother for, if Judy had been paying attention. But now that’s it out there, this is apparently a conversation that they’ll be repeating tonight. “I don’t want to fight with you again about this. You already know exactly how I feel about it.” 

Judy flexes her grip on the steering wheel. “I just assumed…” She doesn’t want to argue, either, and there’s obviously something Quinn would like to discuss. “It’s very late and I suppose I’m tired. Now, what was it you wanted to talk about?”

It isn’t that simple. She can’t just ignore— not after everything, and when it’s clearly a topic that’s on her mother’s mind as well…

“Why do you do it?” Quinn asks in a quiet voice. “I just— we were supposed to be moving past everything and starting over, and… just, why?”

Even with the late-night lack of traffic, it’s still nearly a ninety minute drive back to Lima and Judy isn’t sure if she can handle an inquisition. “I’m divorced after spending years married to a man who rarely ever allowed me to express my own opinions. It’s a perfectly acceptable vice.”

“Mom. He’s not even in our lives anymore, and— you can’t even make it through a whole day. I want to help you, but I have no idea what to do. I can’t have people over because— I had a friend over this summer, and do you even remember meeting her?” Quinn runs a hand through her hair. She’s been on a plane for two hours after a weekend that was supposed to be one of the best things that’s ever happened to her, and now here she is, sitting in a car talking to her mother about— “It’s not a vice, mom.”

Judy desperately would like to steer the topic of conversation away from herself, so she’s quiet for a moment as she purses her lips and thinks about anyone Quinn may have had over to the house. Surprisingly, she does recall, “The girl from your little glee club, right? The one with the very good voice?” She hopes that remembering, along with complimenting, Quinn’s friend will help ease the situation. “Rebecca? No, that’s not it.”

“Rachel, mom. Her name is Rachel.” Quinn is actually shocked that her mother even remembers meeting Rachel. “The point is, I had one friend over this summer, and she had to meet my drunk mother.” It’s harsh, she knows, and this isn’t how this conversation was supposed to go. She pinches the bridge of her nose and then says, “I’m sorry. Can we just— I really wanted her to meet you. The real you, not… You said that it was just going to be us. That we were going to be okay after what he did.”

When Judy is sober, which she's closer to right now than she has been during most of their other conversations this last week, she really can understand Quinn’s concern, even if she doesn’t agree. “All right. I will keep it to a minimum if you’d like to have her back over. I was rather impressed with her when I saw your group perform that year. She seems like a nice girl.”

Quinn sighs. “She is a nice girl, but you’re missing the point. I don’t want you to keep it to a minimum just so that Rachel can come over. She’s not even here anymore, she’s in New York. I just—” The tears are starting to well up, and Quinn silently curses herself for being so emotional. As strong as she can be in most situations, she really can’t help crying when something is important to her. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty, I just… want my mom back.” 

“Lucy…” Judy catches herself a second too late. Even after so many years, it’s sometimes difficult not to call your child by the name you’ve given them. “I’m sorry to make you feel as if I’m… not present when you need me.” She draws in a slow, deep breath and keeps her focus on the nearly empty highway. “I’m… listening, now. What was it you wanted to discuss?” 

At the sound of her own name, Quinn still can’t help but react when she hears it. This time, it happens to be in the form of a sharp intake of breath. “That’s not what I was trying to do,” she says. “I know things aren’t perfect in our family, even without— even with him gone. I just want to know that you’re okay.” Her eyes are still full of tears, and she blinks them back. “What I wanted to talk to you about… I’m not really sure how to say it. It’s… about Rachel, actually.”

“What could you possibly need to discuss with me about Rachel?” Again, Judy switches the radio channels, this time to something purely instrumental. “Are you sure you aren’t hungry? When was the last time you ate?”

“We ate just before we left, I’m fine.” Her mother is being fidgety, changing the radio station, adjusting her mirror. “I need to tell you—” How do you tell something like this to Judy Fabray? She’s just grateful that her father isn’t here right now or she wouldn’t even be attempting this conversation. “Rachel and I have been… spending time together this summer. A lot, actually. And even though she’s in New York for school, we talk all of the time.” God, why can’t she just say it? 

“It’s good that you’ve made a close friend,” is all Judy seems to have to say on the subject of Rachel. “Didn’t you go out with Sam the other night? I’ve seen him in church. And he was always very polite to me whenever he came over to the house.”

“I did go out with Sam to the community center. They had Flashback Night, and we dressed up and went dancing.” Quinn smiles at the memory. Sam. Her guy. If he were here right now, he’d be holding her hand, and she would be grateful for it. “But we’re just friends. He’s my friend, we’re not dating.” She licks her lips and tries to find the words. There’s no way out but through, and Quinn focuses on what she needs to do. She says softly, “Rachel and I… are.”

They pass three exits before Judy says anything. “Several weeks ago… I received a rather… concerned phone call from Kristine Williams. I told her that whatever she felt she had witnessed was…” She clears her throat. “Likely a misunderstanding.”

Quinn’s laugh is harsh. “Of course she called you. Raking me over the coals wouldn’t have been enough. What did…” She looks out the window. She’s never felt more like Lucy than she does right now. “What did she tell you?”

“It doesn’t matter what she said, because I don’t believe her.”

“Mom. Rachel and I are dating.” Now that she’s said it once, she can say it again. The fact that her mother has also had at least one drink tonight, maybe more, doesn’t hurt. 

“Quinn, I know things didn’t work out with college and that last year you found yourself running with a particularly rough crowd… but you’re young. Your sister was lucky to get married to a wonderful man early as she did… and you’re a very lovely girl.” Judy honestly feels she’s being encouraging. “This kind of thing you’re talking about… doesn’t work out for people, in the long run.”

“I’m not— this isn’t some kind of stunt. I’m trying to make something of myself. I have a good job, and I’m working to move up in what I hope will one day be my field. I have a daughter, who I love more than anything, and I’m actually getting to spend time with her. If I’d gone to college, I wouldn’t have the opportunity to know her. Me being with Rachel doesn’t have anything to do with throwing a tantrum for not being able to go to Yale.”

“You know, I could understand the pregnancy. It… certainly wasn’t ideal and I still regret just standing by and allowing your father to throw you out like that. You have no idea.” Judy sets her jaw and the space between them is filled with the sound of the radio. “But what you’re describing is… people will talk, Quinn.”

The tears are rolling slowly down Quinn’s cheeks now. “Do you think that I don’t know that? Do you think that I asked for this to happen? I didn’t choose it, and I can’t help it that I’m in lo—” Quinn clamps down and lets herself process what her mother is saying for a moment. “You said that you were impressed with her. You said that she’s a nice girl. And she is. She’s smart and funny and you’ve heard her sing, mom, you know how talented she is. And I’m lucky enough that she wants to be with me.”

“Her level of talent doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that it… it isn’t right.” The last three words are almost programmed to come out. If Judy actually allows herself to hear the way Quinn describes Rachel, to listen to the nuances in her voice when she talks about how lucky she is, if she does that, she’ll realize that her daughter is actually happy, something she hasn’t been in a very, very long time. But right now, there’s a deafening sense of morality and that’s her primary focus.

Quinn’s hands are clenched so tightly that her knuckles ache. “As much as I would love to take my entire view of right and wrong from the woman who calls her alcoholism ‘a perfectly acceptable vice,’ you’ll excuse me if I don’t buy it. There is nothing wrong with how I feel about Rachel. Nothing. She’s a human being, and probably the best one I’ve ever known. I care about her, and I was hoping that you could find it in your heart to be happy for me for once, but if you can’t, then I’m going to ask you to ignore it like you do everything else you don’t understand and to leave Rachel out of it.”

Once more, Judy switches the station, back to the talk radio channel. And those are the only words that fill the space of the car on the remainder of the drive back to Lima.


	42. Picture Perfect Family Outing

Puck still has a little trouble juggling everything.

It’s a little easier, now that Beth actually listens to him (kind of, she is carrying Quinn’s DNA, after all), but getting her out of her carseat and into the stroller still takes some strategy. This is primarily based around the fact that he’s paranoid about locking her in the SUV, so he’s taken to climbing across the seats to the back, where the stroller is stored, then pushing it out the rear passenger door so he can set it up before ultimately releasing Beth from her seat and buckling her into the stroller.

“Ohno, where goin’?”

“We,” Puck says, checking out his reflection in the tinted window of the Durango. The small square of gauze covering up the stitches from his recent injury is visible just above the v-neck of his t-shirt. He wonders if Quinn will ask about it. “Are going to get pictures taken with your— Q. With your Q.” As much as he fully acknowledges Shelby is Beth’s mother, he still doesn’t really know what label to apply to Quinn. He’s lucky, because there isn’t anyone else looking to fill the role of “daddy,” even though Beth doesn’t call him that.

“Ooooh!” Beth says, looking up at him through her baby sized sunglasses.

“Lookin’ good, baby B.” As he pushes the stroller down the sidewalk toward the photo studio, they pass a pair of women who wave at Beth and smile at Puck. He smiles back and keeps moving. Normally, he’d take this as a prime opportunity to pass out his business cards and make some connections, but Quinn’s waiting on them and he wouldn’t want to delay her visit with Beth. That doesn’t stop him from turning around and watching them them over the tops of his aviators as they walk away.

Shutterbugs is in an old bungalow style house, off the main street district of Lima. He pushes Beth up the front walk and wonders if he’s supposed to knock. But then this is a business, not an actual house, anymore, so he opens the door and rolls the stroller inside.

Quinn is at the front desk, double checking the appointments in the computer calendar. She looks up when the door hits the bell, sees Puck and smiles. When she sees Beth’s tiny sunglasses, her smile erupts and she says, “Hey, baby girl.” 

“Oooh!” Beth squeals from the stroller, and Quinn laughs. 

“Those sunglasses are fantastic,” she tells Puck. “I approve.” Puck rolls the stroller up and Quinn drops to her knees so she can unbuckle Beth and scoop her up. She looks up at Puck. “Did you walk here?”

Puck removes his own glasses and tucks them into the neck of his t-shirt, but not without first accidentally poking himself in the bandage covered injury. He winces. “Ow— No, I parked up the street.” Beth’s diaper bag is slung across the back of the stroller and he bumps at it with his knee. “She has baby hair stuff in here if you want to do anything for the pictures. I figured I’d leave that up to you.”

“Good thinking.” Quinn nods to the bandage on his neck. “What happened?”

“Ninja star attack.” He can tell by Quinn’s raised eyebrow that she doesn’t buy it, but it’s the truth. “Seriously. It was on my shelf and I went to get a book—” Another raise of the brow. “Okay a… certain kind of video…” he admits, side-glancing to Beth, “down and I knocked it down. Had to get a couple stitches, but it’s good to know I have a functional weapon in case a burglar comes in.” Before he can get another look of disapproval, he adds, “And I put them in a box up in my closet so it won’t happen again. Not that Beth is allowed over to the Bropartment, yet. But when she is, it’ll be safe and everything.”

“We’re lucky she’s allowed here today, unsupervised,” Quinn says, and then adds, “If she ever is allowed to your house, we are spending the entire day before baby-proofing. God knows what other death traps you and Sam have set up over there.” 

She twirls Beth, who squeals and bounces in her arms, and Quinn falls in love with her daughter all over again. When she looks at Puck, the same look is in his eyes, and she knows everything he’s feeling because she feels it too. “She’s pretty perfect, right?” she asks, even though she doesn’t need to.

“Kind of like you. Just less scary. Actually, she gets scary if she doesn’t have a nap. She has your glare, Q.” Puck rolls the stroller aside and parks it next to the reception desk. He really wants to ask her about what’s up with Rachel and maybe while she has Beth to keep her hands busy from killing him might be a good time. “How’s Rachel?” he asks, making sure he’s a good arm’s length away, just in case.

She’s completely absorbed in Beth, smoothing her hair, taking her sunglasses off, fixing a tiny button on her jumper. When Puck asks about Rachel, it sends a jolt of alarm through her, but the only thing he gets to see is a fleeting glance and then, “She’s fine. She said to tell you hi the next time I saw you.” It’s the perfect time to walk around the wall and head back toward the rooms that make up the actual studio. “Were you totally shocked?” she asks over her shoulder. “Because I was.”

“I wouldn’t say I was shocked. I feel like most of our group was pretty gay there, for a while. It’s cool. And, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t pictured it before. But I’ve done that with just about all the hot girls in our grade, so…” Puck slings the baby bag over his shoulder and follows after Quinn.

“I asked you not to be a pig about this,” Quinn reminds him. 

“I’m just being honest! And, anyway, I stopped thinking about you like that, because even fantasy you will probably cut my balls off and put them in a jar or something,” he mumbles.

Quinn rolls her eyes. “God, Puck, I’m not Hitler. I just don’t want you to objectify my girlfriend by reducing her to something you use as some kind of sick alone time fantasy.” She passes Beth to him and starts looking through backdrops and props to see what she has to work with. It’s the first time she’s called Rachel her girlfriend to someone who isn’t Rachel, and it seems easier to be busy with something. The fact that he’s holding their daughter only makes it easier. “I think we should just do a bunch of different shots and see what works and then we can go from there. We have a few hours.”

“Did Hitler really save up other dudes’ balls in jars? That’s some twisted sh—” He catches himself. “Stuff.” Beth reaches for the patch of gauze at the base of his neck, but he casually flips her around and spins her in a circle before she has a chance to grab it. “I’ve pretty much sworn off the girlfriends of my bros after, you know… so… if you don’t mind being my bro, but like, a bro with boobs, then we’re cool. Internets full of plenty of hot chicks willing to do the job, anyway.” The way Quinn’s all business about the pictures makes him shake his head, though it’s in appreciation. “Always business. Okay, yeah. Whatever you think. You’re the big shot photographer.”

Quinn stares at him before going back to work. “I have no idea what you think ‘don’t be a pig’ means, but whatever it is, it’s off.” She slides a basket and something feathery to the side and adds, “I don’t care how you think of me, as your bro or whatever, as long as you leave Rachel out of it.” She settles on a backdrop that’s mostly gray so that she can focus on close-ups and details and avoid having this look like some sort of school picture, if she can. “I’m sure if she were here, she would be mad at me for not trusting that she can take care of herself, but it’s not about that.” She looks hard at him so that he doesn’t miss this, because she’s not repeating it to him again. “I care about her, Puck. And whatever it is that we have together is more important to me than your brand of locker room talk. That’s all.”

“Hey, I’m not that same dude who knocked you up. And I’m not just saying that because I tamed Puckzilla with that surgery. Which, I’m pretty sure we hit the jackpot with this little angel, here.” He hands Beth the stuffed Pikachu she’s been eyeing ever since they entered the studio. “I’m just trying to say that I’m happy you have someone. And it’s especially cool for you that she’s also smoking hot.”

Quinn can’t help her smile at that because even though she wouldn’t say so in so many words, at least not to Puck, Rachel is smoking hot. What she says out loud is, “Okay, well, as long as we’re on the same page,” and takes Beth from him. “I’d like to do a few shots with that—” she nods at the stuffed animal Beth is waving around— “just to get her used to how this works and then we can see how she does with this.” He looks questioningly at her and she explains, “Some kids cry. It’s just how it is.”

The shots with the Pikachu go well. It turns out, Beth is just a generally happy kid who adapts to new situations well, and it’s lucky Puck is there because he has no trouble getting her to giggle. When Quinn graduates her to a stack of books Puck has stowed in the bottom of the stroller, Beth is delighted. She claps and squeals, “Ohno!” and stretches her hands up to Puck, who looks at Quinn. Quinn just shrugs as if to say, “Go ahead,” and then Puck is scooping her up and Quinn’s camera is shuck-shuck-shucking the entire time. 

“Don’t feel like you have to stay here,” she tells him. “We have the whole studio. We can go outside, too. I really just want some candids of her playing and being happy.”

Beth seems to pick up on the mention of “outside” and begins happily babbling. 

“I think that means ‘yes.’ Or that she’s hungry. I’m still working out her language.” Puck smirks. “That’s another thing you two have in common.”

“There are worse things than having someone think that she’s like me,” Quinn says dryly, and then she laughs because Beth reaches for her and says, “Oooh!” 

“Come on,” Quinn says. “Lets go outside for a while.”

Puck knows he was never the right match for Quinn, not when she was with Finn, not when she was with him, not when she was on her quest for prom queen, and especially not now that she’s with Rachel. But there’s always going to be part of him that wonders just what things would be like of she’d taken him up on his original offer to raise Beth together.

Sure, he probably would have dropped out of school to find a full time job to support them. And he certainly wouldn’t be living in the Bropartment with Sam. He wonders if they’d even be friends, because glee club certainly wouldn’t have been an option.

When he watches Quinn with Beth, now, out in the yard behind the studio, he knows they made the right choice, as hard as it’s been. He knows they’re lucky to have a second chance with this kid while still being able to have their own lives.

“You should do one with all of us,” he says.

The request surprises her. It’s completely out of nowhere, but Beth is so happy, and the two of them are happy when they’re with her, so… 

“Yeah,” Quinn says. “Okay. Just let me run in and get the tripod.”

When she comes back outside, Puck is lying on his back with Beth sitting on his chest, trying to somehow fit his sunglasses on his face. 

“You’re going to lose an eye, doing that,” Quinn says, laughing, and then she drops the tripod in the grass. She stretches out in the grass next to Puck and raises her camera. It’s an awkward angle, but at this point in her fledgling career, she at least knows how to frame things this way. Puck shifts and Beth rolls between them, giggling and clutching Puck’s sunglasses in a tiny fist, and Quinn takes frame after frame. 

When they’re done, she pulls Beth up and tells them, “Be right back.” She sets up the tripod and sets the timer and then she’s back with them, letting the camera do its thing while they play with this perfect little person they’ve brought into the world, together.

Puck gets a reprieve from another round of Beth trying to grab at his injury when she zeroes in on Quinn to show her what she knows about the Tickle Game. “She’s smart. She picks up on things like that pretty quick. I know she doesn’t get that from me.” He watches the way Quinn’s entire everything lights up when she plays with Beth. With as crazy as she was almost this time last year, with her baby stealing plan, he can see how much she loves Beth. And, really, with as much of late night reality crime shows as he’s watched in his life, he’s heard of moms doing even crazier things to get their kids back.

At some point along the way, Quinn’s camera goes forgotten on the tripod and she focuses on playing with her baby girl. And Puck. Even though they were never really together, even though she never really wanted to be with him, somehow, like this, they just work. The two hours she has in the studio fly by, and she has a whole series of shots of Beth by the time they’re done. Beth in her baby sunglasses, Beth scrutinizing a caterpillar, Beth playing with her daddy. It’s one of the happiest afternoons Quinn can remember, her time with Rachel aside, and she hates it that they have to go. 

When she walks them to the door, there are tears in her eyes, but for once they’re happy tears. “I’m so glad you brought her, Puck. Thank you.”

“You shouldn’t thank me for getting a chance to see your own kid, Q.” He glances down at Beth, who’s currently content with shoving Cheerios in her mouth from her stroller seat. “It’s rough to think about, sometimes, but… I’m glad we gave her a chance instead of making her put up with us back when we were dumb kids.” Puck laughs at himself, “Seems like a lot longer ago than it was, huh?” He turns to Quinn and waves her toward him, signaling that he’d like to give her a hug.

Quinn rolls her eyes and laughs, and sinks into Puck’s hug. She can’t describe this bond they have now, the three of them, but she’s grateful for Puck and how he is with Beth. If it hadn’t been for him, she’d never have gotten another chance, and she knows it. “We’re still dumb kids,” she mumbles into his chest. “But we somehow found a way to give her a good life, and I’m good with that.” She looks up at him. “And, yes. I do need to thank you. I wouldn’t have gotten to try again, if you hadn’t kept it together with Shelby. So… thank you.” 

She kisses him on the cheek, which is something Rachel would do, actually, but it seems to fit the moment.

Puck’s about to say that he’s totally matured, but then Quinn brushes up against the bandage and he’s reminded that he was struck by a falling ninja star. “Maybe we could do something like this once a month. Not the pictures, necessarily, but… just hang out with Beth.” He lets go of Quinn so he can double check that he remembered all the baby stuff. “And, you know, if you ever want to hang out, you should come by the Bropartment. I know it has to suck having Rachel so far away. We need another COD player, anyway.”

Quinn laughs. “I don’t know about playing any video games with the two of you, but I would definitely come hang out with you guys,” she says. “Some days are better than others with Rachel, but I miss her all of the time. And of course I would love to spend time with you and Beth together, if Shelby is okay with it.” 

She drops down and kisses Beth one last time. “Bye, baby girl. Be good, okay?” 

Beth holds a Cheerio up for Quinn and says, “‘Kay? Oooh!” 

It hurts a little, watching them go. But she knows she’ll see Beth again next week. She has the pictures to sort and edit and put on a flash drive for Shelby, and she has her letter to write. And then of course she and Rachel will talk, as well. She’ll be seeing her girl again before she knows it, and that’s what she keeps telling herself, long after Puck and Beth are gone.


	43. Now Back To Your Regularly Scheduled Skyping

Rachel’s exhausted from her school week and it’s only Tuesday. It’s the good kind of exhaustion, though, the kind that results from exerting a lot of creative energy. Between movement and scene study and vocal techniques, she’s either in a classroom or meeting up with other people to rehearse their first quarter performance pieces. She loves that the schedule is so fast-paced, but she would also prefer to be able to keep her eyes open when she talks to Quinn over Skype tonight, because she enjoys the sight of her girlfriend.

As soon as Quinn’s username appears at the top of her contact list, she immediately hits the button to automatically connect the video call.

The second Quinn sees Rachel’s face on her computer screen, the stress from the last few days melts into the background. It’s still there, but somehow Rachel makes it seem farther away, and now Quinn is full of the warmth that only a select few can bring out in her. 

“Hey,” she says. 

Rachel sinks back against the pillows behind her. Normally, she prefers to be at the desk for Skyping, but once she sat down on her bed, her body refused to get back up. “Hi,” she says, with a smile. “Did you get that video I sent of the one man band guy in Washington Square Park? Because I think he looks just like Patches, but Kurt doesn’t see it.”

“I did. It’s a pretty amazing city you live in. Which is fitting,” Quinn says. “How are classes?”

Quinn sips her tea and leans her chin on her hand.

“They’re great. Energy consuming, but great.” Rachel gazes softly at her screen. “We have workshop pieces going up this weekend, already. Reminds me a lot of glee club.”

“Well now I just miss watching you perform,” Quinn says. “I feel like I miss you all the time, actually.”

“I know what you mean.” Rachel sighs and doesn’t want to dwell on the distance. “How did your pictures turn out?”

“It’s hard to imagine pictures of her not turning out well, regardless of the photographer.” Quinn watches every movement, wishing she could be there, talking to Rachel face to face. Holding her. “I took a few of the three of us that are pretty great. I can’t wait to show Shelby.” 

Quinn set one of them as her computer wallpaper that same afternoon. She fiddles with her phone and wonders if she should tell Rachel that she has a picture of the two of them in New York set on it.

“Any more parties for you? How is Charity these days?”

“Beth has some pretty great genetics, so it’s no surprise that she’s so photogenic.” Rachel shakes her head at the mention of parties. “Not lately. Unless you count the Madonna dance party Kurt and I had after getting amped up on Jamba Juice. And Charity is just fine. She’s still a little scared of you, I think.”

Quinn can’t help her smile. “Thank you,” she says, ducking her head. “She’s pretty amazing, Rach. I still can’t believe it sometimes, how lucky I was to have her.” She ignores what Rachel says about Charity because there could be worse things than Charity Black being afraid of her, she thinks. Besides, she really is happy that Rachel didn’t get stuck with some roommate who would spend the year making her miserable. And what she has to say next will also make Rachel happy. “Hey,” she says softly. “I have some news, Rach. The president of the board in charge of the photography award called me today. Apparently, something happened, and the guy who won withdrew. He’s not going to New York for the apprenticeship. Something with his family. They picked three of us, and they’re reviewing our portfolios to see which of us will go.”

“Wait, so,” Rachel perks up, giving Quinn her full attention, even though she’s pretty sure that’s what she was already doing. “You’re back in the running? Does this mean you’re going to Paris? And you could possibly end up here? Quinn, baby, that’s fantastic!”

“I’m— there’s three of us. It might not be me,” Quinn says, but she’s excited, and she knows that it’s obvious. “We should find out this week sometime. I might get to come to New York, Rach.”

“Do they already have your portfolio or are you supposed to put one together, especially for this?” Rachel doesn’t want to become obsessed with the possibility of Quinn coming to New York, so she’s trying to be productive.

“They had me put one together for this and email it. I used some of Beth’s shots from yesterday and… your headshots and some candids from the fair.” Quinn drops her eyes. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Does this mean that, potentially, I’ll be seen internationally?” Rachel asks, a smile working its way across her lips. “Sounds like a winning portfolio to me. Especially with that genetically superior baby in the mix. Okay, that sounded a little weird. But you take great shots, Quinn. Especially when you care about the subject matter. That’s my professional opinion as someone who has had a lot of photos taken of them.”

Quinn lifts an eyebrow. “Is that what this is? You’re just using our relationship for publicity and international exposure?”

“Even if I were, it would mean I possess a lot of faith in your talent. Which I do, regardless of your standing as an internationally famed photographer.”

Quinn laughs. “You’re the one who said it.” She’s still amazed that Rachel is so incredibly beautiful, even with her tousled hair, burrowed in bed. “Rach, I—” Quinn stops herself, bites her lip. She wonders what she was even going to say. “Would you ever want to meet Beth? When you come home to visit, I mean.”

“Of course, I do. I already told you I’d love a chance to get to know her. She’s— the way you talk about her and the fact that she’s so important to you… I’d love to meet her.” Rachel’s heard a lot about this little girl and seen plenty of pictures, but she’s the only one of their original circle of friends (or acquaintances) who wasn’t there the day she was born. “There’s also something fascinating about the fact that she turns Noah into a big softie whenever he talks about her.”

“Isn’t that the most bizarre thing to watch? He stopped himself from swearing the other day. It’s almost unnatural.” 

“He just wants to be a good dad… or… whatever his position is in Beth’s life. It makes sense, though. He talks tough, but he’s something of a teddy bear.” Rachel feels like she’s always seen through Noah’s tough exterior, although it did seem that his bad boy image was what drew her to him in the first place.

“A teddy bear around certain people, maybe. I’ve never really seen that side of him until Beth because… well, I don’t exactly scream ‘cuddle up to me,’ do I?” She and Puck have a history, and they see eye to eye, but he’s never been what Quinn would call affectionate. Then again, neither has she. “I like watching him with her, though. He really is a good dad. There’s not anything he wouldn’t do for her, when it’s all said and done.”

“I guess now that I think about it, you two didn’t seem like the dream couple when you were living at his house,” Rachel says. “Not that I knew either of you then nearly as well as I do now. Especially you.”

Quinn laughs and does absolutely nothing to hide the look of adoration she feels in her eyes. “You’re starting to know me pretty well, I would say.” She’s teasing, but it’s actually pretty true, she realizes. Rachel knows her better than just about anyone else in the world. She wonders when exactly that happened.

“I’d like to think that I have some decent general knowledge of Quinn Fabray. I know what kind of smoothies you like after a good fake rock climbing. I know you can put up a tent without the instructions. I know you hate the song Afternoon Delight. I know you don’t really seem to snore.” Rachel tries to hide the smirk that’s pulling at the corner of her mouth. “At least not after sex, anyway.”

“Rachel Berry!” Even after all of the compromising positions Rachel has seen her in, Quinn’s cheeks still burn with her blush. “I do not snore. After sex or any other time.”

“I know! That’s what I said.” Rachel smiles into her camera, then dramatically winks.

“I hate you,” Quinn says in a tone that implies anything but hatred. An image flashes in her mind, and her voice drops instantly. “You know what I really miss? Touching that spot on the back of your neck. There’s this soft fuzzy hair there, and it… smells like you.” Without warning, her eyes are full of tears. “Rach… I— I told my mom.” She bites her lip, trying to hold the tears in check. “About us. She won’t— she didn’t take it very well.”

Rachel shifts from smiling softly as Quinn describes the back of her own neck to her to sitting forward with concern written all over her face. “You… when? Is everything okay? I mean, obviously you’re saying she’s having trouble with it, but— If you need somewhere to go, my dads can help.” She has no idea what the fallout is in this situation, but based on Quinn’s previous experience in breaking news to her parents. Rachel is suddenly worried that her girlfriend is going to be homeless for the second time in her life.

Quinn wipes at her eyes. “When she picked me up from the airport.” Rachel looks so earnestly upset and concerned that Quinn forces herself to pull it together. “I’m fine, I promise. She’s not— I don’t think she’ll make me leave this time. That’s more—” Russell’s style. “I’m fine,” she says again. “But I wanted her to know about… one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. And now she does. I can’t control how she handles it.”

“Baby, it’s reasons like this that make me angry when you second guess yourself. Because you’re one of the strongest people I know.” Rachel now, more than any other time since Quinn headed back to Lima, wants to give her a hug, the tight lingering kind that leads to cuddling and whispers of reassurance. “What did she say?”

“She said…” Quinn briefly entertains the idea of changing the subject, of protecting Rachel from the things her mother said about them. But then, if Quinn is one of the strongest people Rachel knows, the same could be said in reverse. In fact, Rachel’s strength and determination in the face of adversity are part of what Quinn loves about her. “She said that what we have is a misunderstanding and— and a waste of time. That relationships like ours don’t work out in the long run.” Quinn swallows and tries to say the last part without losing her voice completely. But if she and Rachel are really a team, then Rachel deserves to know. “She said that… that it isn’t right.”

This time, she can’t hold the tears back. Fuck.

“Oh, Quinn.” This is the worst thing about the distance. Yes, it’s inconvenient when they’re both hot and bothered for each other. But when one of them is genuinely upset, it’s painful to be so distant and unable to offer support. Rachel knows that talking about Judy right now isn’t going to really do anything. “I’m so sorry. I know it doesn’t sound like much but… do you want to watch something on Netflix together?” She hopes some virtual quality time will be an appropriate distraction.

Quinn reaches for a tissue and presses it to her eyes. “Actually, that sounds really good,” she says in a broken voice. And then she adds, “I’m really sorry, Rach. I want her to love you—” As much as I do. “I just want her to love you. I’m sorry that she can’t see what I see.” She runs a hand through her hair. “Why don’t you pick the movie, baby, okay? I don’t really care what it is. I’m just… I’m glad we can still do this, even though we can’t be together right now.”

“Give her time, Quinn. My dads both have stories about certain family members not taking things so well. But… time usually seems to help. And, you don’t have to think about this now, but if you ever want them to talk to her, I know they will.” Rachel forces herself to look away from Quinn’s image so she can open up a new window for the movie. “How about something animated?”

Quinn pulls up her Netflix and grins. “How would you feel about watching _The Incredibles_ with me?” she asks.

Rachel flashes a warm smile in return. “I feel like my girlfriend’s been paying attention. That’s a yes, by the way.”


	44. Mother Issues

Carolyn’s particularly enthusiastic to hear what Quinn has to tell her in this session, because she knows Quinn’s photo was selected as a finalist for the Chicago show. Quinn Fabray is a smart, talented young woman who is capable of so much, but often finds herself in difficult situations. Having her individual abilities singled out for recognition is hopefully going to provide a much needed personal boost. While Rachel has also been a positive influence in Quinn’s life, it’s important that Quinn has things that are hers, that are separate from her relationship (or even her daughter) that give her an increasing sense of self-worth.

“So, how was this week?” she asks.

Quinn crosses her legs and her eyes flutter up to meet her therapist’s. “Mixed,” she says simply. She’s been working on being more open— Rachel is helping with that— and she catches herself and sighs. “I saw Beth this week. Twice. Puck brought her to the studio and we took some pictures together, and then I had dinner on Thursday at Shelby’s. So that’s… going well,” she adds. All things considered, it was an eventful week, and since she has no idea where to begin, starting off with Beth seems safe.

“How was it for you, spending time with him alongside Beth?” Noah Puckerman has been pretty much off the radar in their sessions for a long time and Carolyn is curious about his resurfacing in Quinn’s life, particularly in regard to Beth.

Quinn thinks for a minute before she says, “It was… really good, actually. All of our— stuff just kind of takes a back seat when she’s there. He’s a really good dad.”

“And do you feel that’s the role he’s taken in Beth’s life? A father figure?”

“I never would have thought it was possible, not from Puck, but he’s really protective of her. I imagine him scaring the hell out of her boyfriends fifteen years from now.”

Carolyn nods. “All right. Quinn… I want to know how you feel about him taking on a primary role in her life while Shelby still retains the role of mother.”

“I don’t—” Quinn bites her lip. “I’ve lost her twice now. And Shelby is a good mom. If she got married or… I don’t know.” In some ways, it’s not fair, but in others, it’s the only thing that is. “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay to not know,” Carolyn says. “It suggests that you’re seeing gray areas and not clinging to a black and white reality that, in this case, isn’t going to exist. As long as you continue to realize that Shelby’s decision to include both of you in Beth’s life is first and foremost for Beth’s benefit, I think you’ll continue with the progress you’ve been making.”

“I’m really just happy to be able to have some time with her,” Quinn admits. “It’s not— it isn’t how I thought it would be when I was pregnant with her, obviously, but I wouldn’t trade my time with her for anything.” She debates whether or not to share the next thought in her brain. She’s usually so guarded, but talking about Beth is always good, and Carolyn has always been very supportive of her relationship with Rachel. She makes up her mind. “Rachel says that she’d like to meet her.”

This is a natural step, given the relationship between Rachel and Quinn. There’s also an added element of complication. “In your opinion, how does she handle the idea of Shelby being Beth’s mother?”

“I think that she’s compartmentalized it, honestly. Shelby and Beth are two separate issues for her. She’s far too supportive to let her issues with Shelby get in the way of someone who is such an important person in my life.” It never fails to amaze Quinn how completely selfless her girlfriend can be. “She’s only ever said that she wants to, not that it would be hard for her.”

“And what are your thoughts on Rachel interacting with Beth, in general?”

Carolyn smiles at Quinn across the desk. She looks relaxed, hands folded loosely together, her hair coming loose in wisps, glasses reflecting light from the window outside. “I don’t know,” Quinn says carefully. “They’re both very important to me. Of course I want them to know each other.”

“And, again, in your opinion, how do you think Shelby will react to Rachel’s request? Do you plan on speaking to her about your relationship with Rachel beforehand, to give her an understanding as to why there’s an interest in Beth?”

Quinn’s mouth falls open slightly. “I hadn’t… I mean, that makes sense. I just hadn’t thought how that might affect Shelby.” The idea is unsettling. “I guess I’d have to tell her. It’s better for everyone.”

The ease with which Quinn considers discussing her relationship with anyone, leaves Carolyn raising her eyebrows, then making a note. “So, you’re in a place where you’re comfortable sharing the news of your relationship with Rachel with other people in your life, beyond your circle of close friends?”

“I wouldn’t say that exactly,” Quinn says. “But the situation with Shelby is… complicated. And she kept Beth away from me once… I would rather be up front about this than risk that again.”

Carolyn nods. There’s something about the way Quinn answers that makes her ask, “Have you… discussed your relationship with anyone else?”

And just like that, there are tears in Quinn’s eyes. God. She cries more now than she did when she was dating Finn the second time. She only nods and wipes at one eye before she says, “Puck and Sam know. And I… told my mother.” She hopes that the shake of her head will be enough for Carolyn to know how that went, but she doubts it. 

“Considering that you didn’t open with the news of your mother accepting your relationship, I’m assuming it didn’t go well,” Carolyn says as she nudges the tissue box toward Quinn.

Quinn barks out a laugh. “You assume right. She’s somewhere between ignoring it and condemning me for it. Oddly enough, she seems to think that Rachel is ‘such a nice girl.’” 

“If we consider how you’ve reacted in the past when confronted with the suggested immorality of the same relationship, I’d say she’s likely struggling with acceptance, but doesn’t have any frame of reference for it.”

“Oh get real, Carolyn. She’s never accepted me.”

“You genuinely feel that way? There’s never been any form of acceptance expressed to you, from her?”

Quinn just stares like she can’t believe that she’s hearing her therapist— who has known her for years— ask this question. “Really?” she finally asks. “What mother would allow her child to get a nose job as an early teenager? What mother would stand by and allow her husband to throw her daughter out of her house right in front of her? Her pregnant daughter. Homeless. She had no idea where I went, and she didn’t bother trying to find me.” Quinn is just angry now. It’s like something burst deep within her that she wasn’t expecting and now the only thing to do is just let it run its course. “Frannie was perfect. Even—” she wipes at her eyes again, “even once I was a cheerleader and president of the celibacy club, it was just going through the motions. She never cared. Frannie got a good job. Frannie married a good man. God. Are you really that blind that you think she’s trying to accept me?”

“Quinn, I’m just here to ask the questions. You find your own answers.” Carolyn knows it’s something of a canned answer and she feels like it’s cheap. “Listen, I know you’ve had a rough few years. You’ve dealt with things other people will never have to even consider in their lifetime.” That’s somehow supposed to appease Quinn, but Carolyn can tell that it probably won’t. “You’re an adult, now. You should consider discussing these things with her. You know I’m always open to incorporating someone else into a session.”

“I am not inviting my mother into one of our sessions. Especially not after trying to talk about— this with her and getting told that I’m basically asking for my life to be ruined because of it.” She folds her arms across her chest. “It’ll be a frozen day in hell before I try to talk to her about anything personal again.”

Carolyn rubs her eyes under her glasses. “All right. So you don’t feel comfortable talking to her, at this point. I would, however, like you to consider it as a possibility in the future.” She finally just removes her glasses and sets them aside. “Earlier this summer, you had a reaction to someone confronting you about your relationship. That reaction was based on fear that stemmed from your upbringing. I would like you to, please,” she holds up a hand to keep Quinn from jumping in, “think about the confusion you were feeling at the time.”

Quinn’s posture stiffens. “I’ve faced her since then. Just like I took speaking to my mother about Rachel head on.” 

“I’m just trying to draw something of a parallel for you, to give you a frame of reference. You reacted out of fear, because you didn’t know what was going to happen. Isn’t it possible that your mother is doing the same?” Carolyn slips her frames back on. “You also have to consider exposure. How many openly gay or lesbian or bisexual friends and acquaintances do you have? How many do you think your mother has? I’m not offering any of this as a defense to your mother’s reaction, but if you can begin to understand why she responded the way she did, it’s possible for you to find a point of approach for a future conversation.”

“It’s possible,” Quinn says begrudgingly. “But that doesn’t make it okay. And it doesn’t mean it’s true. She has a track record of ignoring things that are difficult for her. Sam came over a few nights ago, and my mother came downstairs once while he was there. I’m not sure she even noticed him. She’s a mess.” Quinn purses her lips. “Thankfully, Sam is… very understanding. He didn’t say anything about it.”

“As long as you realize that, in order to make any further potential progress with her, you’ll likely have to initiate the conversation,” Carolyn says.

“Well,” Quinn says. “We’ll see.” What she doesn’t say is that her heart still hurts over it and that it feels like her own mother has never been capable of fully loving her. Nobody, not even her therapist, needs to hear that.

There’s a distinct beat before Carolyn moves on. “What else happened this week?”

Quinn can’t hold it in any longer. The smile erupts before she starts talking. “I got accepted by that art program. I’m going to New York for a year.”

With as much as Carolyn’s heard from Quinn over the years, she’s rarely been as genuinely surprised as she is now. She’s known Quinn is a motivated person, capable of getting things done and certainly not a stranger to winning awards. “Quinn, that’s very exciting news!” She certainly doesn’t want to put any kind of a damper on the excitement, but her job is to ask the difficult questions. “This is an outstanding personal and professional accomplishment and I realize this puts you much closer to Rachel, but it’s also going to be putting the strain of distance between your newly established connection with Beth. How do you feel about that?”

Quinn’s smile falters. “I’ve thought about that,” she says carefully. “I’m trying not to— Shelby says she’ll let me Skype with her, and I can still write her letters and send her things. I hate it. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, walking away from her again.” Carolyn looks genuinely concerned, and Quinn appreciates that. “I’ll come back to her. It’s only for a year.”

“Honestly, I would normally want to discuss what it means to be away from a child during crucial development stages, but I have a feeling you’re well aware of that.” Carolyn shrugs, slightly. “I really didn’t purposely seek out to, well, rain on your parade. This is something to be proud of and I’m very glad that you’re in a place where you’re able to take this opportunity.”

“Shelby promises me that I won’t be kept from her again. She’s very excited for this opportunity, and she’s made it very clear that she’s happy to have me in Beth’s life again. It’s better than it was.”

“Good. Very good.” Carolyn’s happy for her, but also knows there’s still so much to be discussed about Quinn’s life. “Have you considered… continuing your therapy during your time in the city?”

Quinn has known for three years that this discussion would happen someday. “I have thought about it, actually, and… what are my options? I mean, I definitely think I should continue therapy, but… do I need to find a new one? Can you refer me, or are there… other options?” Quinn has never had what you’d call separation anxiety, but she’s really built up a level of trust with Dr. Radcliffe, and finding a brand new therapist and starting all over again… She’s not looking forward to it.

“I can certainly refer you to someone. Or… if you’re not comfortable with that idea, I do offer sessions via Skype.”

“It’s not that I’m not comfortable… but, yes. If that’s an option, let’s try that.” Quinn feels a very tangible relief that she and Dr. Radcliffe can still have sessions, even though she’ll be in New York. There’s a trace amount of weakness that goes along with it, but it’s not enough for her to back down. She trusts Carolyn. 

“All right. We can discuss that further when the time comes. Which is…?”

“Well, I’m going to Paris this weekend, and then I have some time to pack before they’re expecting me in New York. They’re even giving me a monthly stipend.”

“On a personal note, I think you’ll thrive in the city,” Carolyn says before offering Quinn a smile. “New York, I mean. But possibly Paris, too. Do you speak French?”

Quinn laughs. “God, do you think so? I speak… very conversational French. My mother insisted that I take lessons, along with playing the piano and cooking.” She lifts an eyebrow. “It’s easier to find a good husband that way,” she says dryly. 

“Considering that you will be leaving Ohio, I really would like you to think about ways to find some closure with your mother. None of it will happen right away, but I think you’ll find that, ultimately, it will be beneficial to you.”

“Believe me when I say that I would love to. She’s a very difficult woman to talk to.”

“Have you told her yet about New York?”

“Not yet, no. I was with Beth last night, and then my mother has been… wherever she goes today. I haven’t really had a chance.”

“Well, at least you have a conversation starter.”


	45. From Paris With Love

It’s closing night of the Labor Day weekend workshop performances. It’s a short run of individual scenes, but it’s Rachel’s first engagement in New York City and she’s loved every second of it. She hopes Quinn is able to catch the webcast tonight before she has to board her flight home from Paris, because every other night has conflicted with something else. If not, she knows the shows will be housed on the website. Still, there’s something about knowing Quinn could be watching, from the other side of the Atlantic, that gives Rachel an electric charge.

She’s been particularly energetic, ever since Thursday, when she found out Quinn received the apprenticeship and will be moving to New York for the next year. Even though they’ve only been apart for a few weeks and officially dating for just short of two, the distance has been harder than she imagined. It helps that she’s been busy with school, but they’re also still in an early stage of their relationship, particularly the one where they’re still physically discovering things about each other.

In short, she finds herself thinking a lot about sex.

Right now, though, isn’t a good time for that, because she’s due to take the stage in mere minutes and she can’t spend the eleven minutes thinking about getting her girlfriend off. She has to be in the moment. Granted, it’s college level workshop theatre, so sex is bound to be in the narrative, somewhere.

Quinn stands in the back of the theatre, in the shadows. She had an amazing time in Paris, but it was such a whirlwind trip, and now standing here waiting for Rachel’s first New York show to begin, she’s feeling the weight of the last few days. She’d tried to sleep on the plane, but with the jet lag, she’s been up for something like thirty eight hours. She had managed to talk her sponsors into letting her fly back one day early and she’d worked the airline system to get herself a fairly lengthy layover in New York City. She knows that she’ll be living here very soon, but it’s been weeks, and this is Rachel’s first show— Quinn thinks it’s completely worth leaving Paris a day early. A very expensive cab ride later, and she’s standing here, in Rachel’s theatre, waiting to see her girlfriend perform. For the first time in months. 

She has goosebumps, but she’s not one hundred percent sure if it’s from the anticipation or it’s because she can’t stop imagining all the different scenarios in which, after the show, Rachel realizes that Quinn is here. There’s hands and lips and hair and a very fit body pressed up against hers in Quinn’s mind, and she’s just ready to see her girlfriend already. 

She looks down at her outfit— a tailored vest and tie she’d gotten in Paris and the closest thing she could find to Sam’s fedora on her head. She hopes Rachel will like it.

When Rachel takes the stage, she knows, she just knows, that Quinn has to be watching because she can sense it. It makes her a little giddy, but she does her best to keep it locked down, because she’s here to perform and she’s a professional. The second she exits the stage, however, she emailing Quinn (because international texting is just too expensive) and telling her exactly what she’s feeling in this moment.

The scene itself is over before it feels as if it’s even begun. She wonders if every final performance will feel like this or if having an entire show to savor, one last time, will be different.

As the crew resets the stage for the next piece and the next wave of actors prepare themselves, Rachel disappears into the wings and picks up her phone where she left it (in the drawer of the shared make up table) and types out: Did you get to see it? It really felt like you were watching. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, though. I know you’re in one of the most amazing cities in the world and likely have things to do. But did you see it? ;)

Quinn’s phone buzzes and Rachel’s message flashes on the screen. She types back: I did see it, baby. You were amazing! Your first New York show… I’m really proud of you. Quinn smirks and then sends off another: You know, it’s considered rude in most places to text while you’re watching a performance. Even if you are in the cast.

Between sending off her message and receiving one back from Quinn, Rachel’s relocated to the back of the theater, so she can watch the rest of the scenes play out, one final time. At Quinn’s first message, she smiles, and begins to respond, but then the second comes through and as she reads it, she wonders if the audience is also incorporated into the live feed.

She types out: Wait, can you see me? Are they showing audience reactions?

Another smirk from Quinn. I can. No audience reactions, Rach. There’s only one camera in here that I can see.

Rachel narrows her eyes at her phone. It almost sounds like— but that’s not possible. Well, not probable. Why does it sound like you’re talking as if you’re in here?

Quinn’s response is immediate. Look over your left shoulder, Rach. 

Rachel’s phone lights up with the message and she when she half-laughs in disbelief, she doesn’t care that the woman in front of her turns around to glare. Rachel reads the message three times, because she wants to make sure she’s reading it correctly before she actually does look. If she’s missing something, she doesn’t want to be disappointed when Quinn isn’t actually standing off in the corner of the space, tinted by the red glow of the exit sign. But Quinn is there. Actually, physically there. And she’s wearing exactly what she promised she would, though Rachel had no idea it would be a sight she’d witness so soon.

She wants to run, but she forces herself to remain composed. For the first ten feet, anyway. Once she’s clear of the people next to her, she launches herself at Quinn.

Quinn catches her and holds her up. The body she’s been thinking about all day is suddenly right up against her, and the way Rachel smells is— she closes her eyes and focuses on holding her girlfriend. “Hey,” she says softly against Rachel’s ear. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“You did,” Rachel whispers, letting herself relax into the tight, safe grip of Quinn’s arms around her. “You really did.” She blinks and realizes her eyes are wet, but it’s not an unexpected reaction. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Rach,” Quinn says and holds tighter. The way Rachel fits in her arms is perfect. She feels perfect. And Quinn is not ready to let go yet. She might never be. “I know it was only a few weeks, but I feel like I’d just gotten you.”

“If you would listen to me, you would have known you had me the whole time,” Rachel mumbles against Quinn’s shoulder. “How long are you here?” She hates to ask it, but she has to know just how much time they have together.

Quinn sighs against her. “Just tonight, Rach. I cut Paris short one day so we have more time than just a few hour layover.” She pulls back enough to look into Rachel’s eyes. “But I’ll be back before you know it. For a whole year.”

“If we just have tonight,” Rachel tilts her head up so she can be clearly heard. “Then maybe we should get out of here.”

Quinn tucks a strand of hair behind Rachel’s ear. “I didn’t cut Paris short just to get you into bed, ‘Licious. You know that, right? I was actually starting to go crazy, not being able to see you. I actually— I have something for you, but…” The way Rachel is looking at her makes Quinn realize that she’s talking entirely too much. “I do want to get out of here, yes.”

Rachel bites her lip and shakes her head, laughing quietly. “Come on,” she whispers, sliding her hand down Quinn’s arm until she locks their fingers together. When she looks down, she sees her left wrist and Quinn’s right, both bearing words from something they created together. She tugs Quinn toward the door that’s near them and carefully pushes it open.

Once they’re in the lobby, she’s able to see her girlfriend more clearly and it hits her just how much she really loves this look on Quinn. There’s a light tug on the tie as she asks, “Where should we go?”

Quinn suddenly feels shy, which is normally very rare unless she’s with Rachel. When she’s with Rachel, it seems like it happens all of the time. It couldn’t possibly have anything to do with the rush of blood to Quinn’s face when she feels Rachel tugging on her tie. “You’re the New Yorker,” Quinn says. “I trust you not to take me someplace where we’ll be mugged and left for dead.” Quinn’s other hand finds its way into her pocket, and she’s surprised by how natural it feels to walk hand in hand in public with Rachel. “Are you hungry?” 

“As much as I’d love to whisk you up to my room, it’s probably a good idea to give Charity some warning. So,” Rachel can’t stop looking at Quinn, who looks a little tired, probably from all her traveling, but she doesn’t seem to be ready to wind down, anytime soon. “For now, I know a place that makes great smoothies.” It’s been weeks since she’s kissed Quinn and she wants to, right now, but she remembers what she said about the next time they saw each other being their first kiss as an actual couple. It feels like there should be some kind of a special moment for it.

Quinn hasn’t stopped smiling since Rachel flung herself into Quinn’s arms. “Yes, god, please text your roommate or whatever it is that you’re supposed to do. If she walks in on us tonight, Rachel, I swear to god…” Quinn quirks an eyebrow. “Unless you’d rather just cuddle up and sleep tonight,” she says in the most disinterested voice she can muster. “I’m actually pretty exhausted.”

Rachel shakes her head. “No way. I just spent the better part of my weekend trying to force myself to not think about a dream where you— Well, that’s not necessarily relevant, right now. But as much as I enjoy cuddling with you, I think I’d very much like to let you have your way with me. After smoothies, of course.” She looks down at her phone. “Let me text her, right now. And in the meantime, tell me everything about Paris.”

Rachel texts and walks at the same time, pulling Quinn out the double doors of the theater and onto the city streets. It’s only been a few weeks, but she already has something of a sense for what’s around her. She knows the smoothie place is to the right and three blocks over.

Rachel’s hand is soft and strong, and Quinn squeezes it gently. It’s getting cooler outside, by this time of night, but it’s still relatively hot. Quinn rubs her thumb against Rachel’s hand and says, “Paris is gorgeous, actually. I still can’t get over how beautiful it is. I’d like to take you there someday, so you can see. The food, oh my god, the food is fantastic. But… the whole time, all I could think about was making it here.”

“Did you even get a chance to see much?” Rachel stuffs her phone into the back pocket of her jeans and is suddenly very glad that the wardrobe for her particular scene was her own clothes, because there’s no way she’s going back into the theater tonight. She’s already abandoned her bookbag in the green room, but she can return for it tomorrow.

“I saw the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower, and we toured a little on Saturday. It was a very fast trip, but if the guy who originally won hadn’t backed out at the last minute… It’s fine. I would like to go back, though.” The envelope that’s in Quinn’s bag feels like it’s burning a hole, and Quinn shifts the bag on her shoulder. She can’t wait to give it to Rachel, but at the same time, she’s incredibly nervous. Again, another emotion that only Rachel seems to bring out in her. 

For the first time Rachel realizes that Quinn’s carrying a bag, which, of course she is, because she just got back from a trip to Paris and this is a surprise visit. “Oh, do you want to put that up in my room? Or… the smoothie place isn’t that far. Do you want me to carry it?”

Quinn laughs. “I’ve got it, Rach. I’m pretty perfect right now, actually.”

Rachel leans into Quinn as they walk and once they arrive at the smoothie shop, she makes sure to order energy boosts for both of them, because… it can’t hurt. She takes the drinks to the table Quinn’s secured for them and scoots her chair as close to Quinn’s as possible before she sits down. “How long is it appropriate to wait before I decide it’s time to take you up to my place?”

Quinn can feel the blush burning in her cheeks. “How long do you want to wait?” she asks in a low voice. Up until this point, Quinn hadn’t thought much beyond wrapping her arms around Rachel and holding her again, but now that she’s sitting next to her, with Rachel not-so-subtly pressing her bare arm against Quinn’s and asking about taking her home, that it’s all Quinn can do not to stare openly at the place where Rachel’s white t-shirt is clinging just so to her perfect chest. She closes her eyes for a second. “We can just take the smoothies with us,” she finally says, leveling Rachel with an intense look.

Rachel’s about to suggest that they’re adults and perfectly capable of controlling themselves, but Charity happens to respond right then with: Bless your heart; stay off my bed. Suddenly, Rachel’s nodding and standing right back up. “I think I like that idea.”

Quinn’s bag is on her shoulder, and she’s got Rachel by the hand before the words are entirely out of Rachel’s mouth. She pulls her hard toward the door and out onto the sidewalk before she realizes she has no idea where Rachel lives. “I swear I didn’t come all the way here just to get you into bed,” she says, and then lets Rachel take the lead. 

“Baby,” Rachel says from around her straw, before pulling it away from her mouth. “All we’ve done the last few weeks is talk. I’m not particularly concerned that you’re only into me for sex.”

Quinn bumps her shoulder. “I’m not the one with the x-rated dreams.”

“Unless you’d like me to drag you into that alley so we can do it right there, I’d recommend not bringing that up again until we’re in a place where I can take off all your clothes.” Rachel sizes up what Quinn’s wearing. “Almost all of them, anyway.”

“Rachel Berry,” Quinn murmurs. The way that Rachel is talking is actually kind of working for her and if she knew where she was going, she’s confident that she’d be dragging Rachel along. “Almost all of them?”

“It’s funny, because I’ve seen you wear them before for performances, but for some reason that tie is really doing it for me, tonight.” Rachel realizes it could be because she hasn’t seen Quinn in person in a while, though she’s fairly certain it has something to do with her dream. There’s also the fact that Quinn just looks good in it. They’re still a couple blocks from Flynn and she needs more conversation to keep her mind from wandering to illicit places. “You said you had something for me?”

“Mhm,” Quinn hums. “I do. I’ll give it to you when we get inside. How far is it?” 

“Two blocks. Is it something French?”

“Nope. Do you have another guess?”

“You went all the way to Paris and didn’t bring me anything French?” Rachel shakes her head. They’re approaching Flynn, so she digs her ID card out of her pocket so she can swipe it to unlock the main door.

“I said that what I have for you isn’t French. I didn’t say I didn’t have anything for you from Paris.”

Rachel wants to kiss her, right there, but she’s still waiting for the right moment. “So I have multiple, international gifts?” she asks, leading Quinn to the elevator.

Quinn just looks at her. “Do you think I don’t know who I’m dating? Of course you have multiple international gifts. Though one of them is really just more… me than anything.” The elevator doors close and Quinn holds the envelope out for Rachel. She leans against the wall and watches Rachel open it.

The envelope Quinn hands her is already made out to Rachel’s school address and looks like it has the appropriate postage to be mailed. “Decided on hand-delivery? How classic of you,” Rachel says, carefully pulling the flap open. A red beaded bracelet slides out and Rachel catches it in her hand, then glances up at Quinn. “Jewelry. Nice tou—” As she looks back down, she’s rendered speechless when she sees that she’s holding a card with the phrase, “I love you” written on it. 

Quinn doesn’t move. She’s clutching the railing in the elevator and biting her lip, waiting for Rachel to take it in, what Quinn is saying. What shes been wanting to say for so long now. 

In Paris, she thought it would be incredibly romantic, sending this to Rachel from the most romantic city in the world, but it was such a short trip that she didn’t want to make it back before the letter. Now, standing here in an elevator in New York City, it just seems kind of— “Is that… cheesy?”

Now is the right time. Rachel’s hands are full with the card and the envelope and the bracelet and her smoothie, so all she can do is lift herself up, just the little bit she needs, on her toes so she can press her lips to Quinn’s. That also happens to be the moment when the elevator makes a slight bounce as it evens with the sixth floor, so she stumbles against Quinn and her perfect kiss is essentially ruined by gravity. “Not cheesy. Ridiculously romantic. But only if you let me try that kiss, again.”

Quinn hums and leans her head back against the elevator wall. Rachel looks shy and flushed and a hundred other things all at once, and all Quinn wants is her.

She drops her bag and murmurs, “Come here,” and pulls Rachel to her.

Rachel’s pretty sure she’s finished with her smoothie, because she drops the cup and slips her hand around the back of Quinn’s head as she’s pulled in close. Their lips brush together and then the contact stops being subtle in exchange for something much more direct. She feels like she’s being kissed by someone who just traveled halfway around the world to see her.

When she realizes that that’s what’s actually happening, she whimpers and leans even more heavily against Quinn.

Once Quinn hears Rachel react, she wraps her arm more tightly around Rachel’s waist. “Rach,” she manages before Rachel’s mouth is covering hers again. 

All Rachel can think about is kissing Quinn, but she realizes that the elevator’s stopped and the doors are sliding open. “Hey,” she says, reluctantly pulling back and tracing a finger over her own lips. “We have a room, you know.” She doesn’t wait for Quinn, she just makes her way down the hall to her room and unlocks the door.

The elevator doors nearly close before Quinn can pull herself off the wall, grab her bag, and follow Rachel down the hall. It still amazes her that Rachel can flip some hidden switch and suddenly be the most confident, sexy thing on earth.

She makes it to Rachel just as she’s getting the door open, and wraps herself around her from behind. She presses her lips to Rachel’s ear and breathes, “I can wait to touch you again.”

Rachel grips the doorknob to maintain her balance, because Quinn’s voice makes her lightheaded. She twists herself around so they’re face to face and she immediately sees the practical appeal of Quinn’s apparel and grabs the tie. “Get in here.”

“Mmm, bossy Rachel,” Quinn says and lets Rachel pull her into the room. “I love that.”

Quinn’s hat has been knocked askew and Rachel decides now is a prime time to take it and place it on her own head. She pushes the strap to Quinn’s bag off her shoulder and doesn’t even wait to hear it hit the ground before she tugs on the tie, again, this time pulling Quinn in for another kiss. “I want you,” she says, against Quinn’s lips, pushing her up against the back of the door. Without looking, she makes sure the deadbolt is secure, then decides it’s worth a glance, because she really doesn’t need anyone interrupting this. It would be detrimental to their sex life if Quinn were arrested for murdering someone tonight.

Quinn steals Rachel’s line and says, “You have me.”

The kiss that follows is searing, and between Rachel tugging on her tie and nearly climbing up the front of her, Quinn is dizzy. It feels like Rachel is everywhere. 

Rachel’s still clutching the card in her hand. “I really do,” she says. Her fingers dance over the tie, then along the buttons to the vest that hugs Quinn’s body. “You dressed up for me.” She looks up, but the hat falls over her eyes, so she has to push it back on her head in order to see.

“I bought this for you,” Quinn corrects. She grabs Rachel by the wrist and pushes off the door so that she can set her smoothie down on the dresser. Once both of her hands are free, she brings Rachel’s wrist to her mouth and kisses the words there. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

“You should tell me more about that,” Rachel says, reaching to carefully place the card and its contents on her desk. Her smoothie cup is probably still on the floor of the elevator and she doesn’t give a damn if Quinn rips her out of the clothes she’s wearing, but the card is something important, so she wants to make sure it’s secure before anything else happens.

The t-shirt that Quinn has been trying not to ogle since the theatre finally has her attention. “You look so good in that shirt,” she murmurs into Rachel’s neck. Within seconds, she’s sucking lightly at the skin there. “I think about you all of the time. When I’m alone at night…” Her hands slide up Rachel’s sides; she can feel Rachel’s ribs. And then she can feel… Her breath comes heavily, and she sucks again, harder this time.

“Does that mean you want me to leave it on?” Rachel asks. She feels drunk, like she’s in a haze, but it isn’t alcohol. It’s all arousal and need. Her back arches and she presses herself against Quinn’s hands. She’s glad, she’s so glad that the show is over as of tonight, because she doesn’t have any plan to stop Quinn from leaving hickies anywhere.

“Do you want to leave it on?” Quinn’s mouth covers an earlobe and sucks, and then she nuzzles into Rachel’s neck. “You know that I want to look at you, but we have all night.” She can’t stop herself from biting softly. “I’m not in a hurry, Rach.”

Rachel’s fingers grip Quinn’s vest as her eyelids flutter. “I would eventually like it to come off,” she manages. “I’m not… trying to rush anything. I’ve just missed you. A lot.”

“God, if you only knew how much I want you right now.” Another bite, this one harder. “I’ve missed you too. We only just started kissing, and I’m already so turned on.” 

“Quinn,” Rachel pants. She has no idea how much longer she’ll be able to keep herself upright if Quinn keeps doing that. “Why don’t you tell me how much you want me?” Her fingers toy with the top few buttons on Quinn’s shirt, but she’s still fixated on the tie and ends up with it wrapped around one hand.

“Mmm, somebody’s fishing,” Quinn says, threading her hands through long, silky hair. “What do you want to know, Rach? How wet you’re making me?” She’s back to sucking on Rachel’s neck, but one of her hands has wandered south and is squeezing and pulling Rachel tighter against her. “When you pull on my tie like that, it makes me want to… take you like I did that day after paintball.” Quinn knows that the memory is most freshly tied to Rachel’s dream, and it’s not by accident that she brings it up now.

“I don’t want you to think that I’m only into you for intense, semi-agressive sex, but… obviously that particular encounter has wedged itself into my subconscious and… I’m… I’m talking too much, aren’t I?” Rachel asks, keeping her body pressed as tightly against Quinn’s as possible.

“I like the way you talk.” Quinn’s hand squeezes again, and Rachel sighs against her. “Is that what you want tonight, Rachel? Intense, semi-agressive sex?” Quinn licks behind her ear and then husks, “Because I can give that to you.” 

She’d wanted this first night together as an official couple to be slow and sweet, but since she has no intention of sleeping tonight, she figures they can make room for anything Rachel wants to do.

For a moment, Rachel’s voice doesn’t work, but she manages to shift it back into working order to ask, “Do you… remember what we talked about? Maybe a week ago? Because that’s what I want.”

Quinn clutches at her, desperate to hold herself upright. She groans into Rachel’s neck and then says, “Say the words. Tell me exactly what you want.”

There’s more downward pressure on the tie. “I… want you to go down on me.” Rachel’s other hand has slipped around to Quinn’s lower back and her fingertips dig into the fabric of the vest.

“Fuck, Rachel,” Quinn breathes, and then her arm is cradled around Rachel’s back and she’s pushing against her with her whole body. “Lay down.”

They’re still a good distance from the bed, but Rachel’s reaction to Quinn is immediate and she’s suddenly pulling Quinn with her to the floor. Charity made a specific request to stay off of her bed, but she didn’t say anything about the rest of the room.

Rachel is on the floor on her back with Quinn’s body covering her, and Quinn immediately pushes a leg between Rachel’s. There’s still a fantastic pressure on her neck from Rachel’s grip on the tie, and Quinn grinds her hips down and then rolls them up again while her lips go back to work on Rachel’s neck. 

“You want me to… are you sure, Rach?” Quinn asks between kisses. “You want my mouth there?”

“Mmhmm,” Rachel nods, frantically, as her body involuntarily reacts to the way Quinn’s moving against her. “I’ve been thinking about it… for a while. And I need it, baby. I need your mouth on me,” she whimpers. It sounds so… oddly specific when she says it, but it’s the only way to clearly express what she wants.

“Rachel…” Quinn’s hand slides up and kneads Rachel’s breast, her hips never stopping. “The thought of doing that to you makes me crazy. But knowing that I’m the only one who… who will know how you taste… I don’t think I can explain what that does to me.”

Just like that, Rachel needs more contact, she needs to touch Quinn. Her fingers move frantically over the buttons of Quinn’s vest, then her shirt until Rachel’s hands slide under the fabric and she feels warm skin against her palms. “Maybe you should try to explain it…”

“You just want me to talk dirty to you,” Quinn says, but it’s not as if she thinks that’s a terrible idea. When Rachel’s hand finds a particularly sensitive spot, Quinn’s hips roll down hard. “Thinking about tasting you makes me feel like I might just come without you even touching me.”

“You have no idea,” Rachel murmurs, flexing her body upward as she tries to move against Quinn. “And if that’s how you feel… then what are you waiting for?”

“I’m waiting because I’m patient. And because watching you unravel with want might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

The next sound out of Rachel’s mouth is an unmistakable whine. “Baby,” she begins, knowing what she wants to say but not absolutely sure she wants to finish her thought. But, really, Quinn started this and if it’s down to being frank and talking dirty, she can play this game, too. “I’m so wet right now, I’m almost positive you can feel it through my jeans.”

Rather than say anything, Quinn drops her head to Rachel’s chest and without warning closes her mouth over a nipple through Rachel’s t-shirt. She runs her tongue in a circle and flicks upward a few times, and then she’s breathing out, bathing Rachel’s breast in hot air. Her hand smooths down Rachel’s body and cups her through her jeans. She can feel how wet Rachel is, and she growls and bites down. 

Rachel’s left hand is still wrapped up in the tie, but her right find itself grasping a handful of Quinn’s hair at the base of her neck. “Told you,” she groans, eyes shut tightly at the sensation of Quinn’s mouth on her. Even through her clothes, it’s more contact from another person than she’s had in weeks.

Rachel is still rocking her hips, against Quinn’s hand now, and they’re getting more insistent. The whines coming out of her mouth are so incredibly sexy, and Quinn has just about hit her threshold for patience. “I want you,” she says, working the button on Rachel’s jeans open. She doesn’t even wait to take them off; she slides her hand straight down inside and when she feels the wetness there, she bucks against Rachel’s thigh. “Oh my god, Rach.” She closes her eyes and lays her head against Rachel’s rapidly rising and falling chest and lets her fingers just feel. “Oh my god,” she says again.

“Quinn, if you…” Rachel has a sentence in mind, but distraction comes easily every time Quinn’s fingers move. “If you keep doing that… I’m…” Her head falls back against the carpet. “God, that feels good.” She knows they have all night, that it could be hours before they’re finished, and frankly, she’s absolutely okay with that. But she’s also panting and writhing against her girlfriend’s hand, so everything has a particular haze to it, right now.

Quinn presses a kiss first to Rachel’s temple and then to her ear before she says in a stern voice while her fingers work more insistently, “Don’t you even think about coming yet. I’m nowhere near finished with you.” Another kiss and then a softer tone that promises, “I love you, Rachel,” before Quinn is gone, down Rachel’s body and her jeans are being ripped from her legs. There’s no other word to describe it. Quinn waits for Rachel to lift up and then she’s tugging and peeling and she’s not being careful, and suddenly she can smell Rachel’s arousal. It’s almost too much for her, and she’s pressing her cheek to Rachel’s toned stomach. 

One second, Quinn is making demands about not coming and the next she’s uttering something Rachel’s been wanting to hear for what feels like forever. As high as she is in the sensation of everything Quinn’s doing, she’s still grounded enough to process what just happened. “Hey,” she says, urging Quinn upward. Even with her pants discarded and being so close to getting exactly what she’s requested, Rachel needs to see Quinn, to kiss her and to say, “I love you, too.”

It feels like everything is suspended, this time, while Rachel kisses her. They love each other. This isn’t just messing around, some experiment. They love each other, and they’re making each other happy, for once. They kiss, a deep, connected kiss that makes Quinn shiver and clutch at Rachel’s body in order to keep grounded, until she feels Rachel rocking up softly against her. 

“I’m going to…” Quinn looks down Rachel’s body and subconsciously licks her lips. “I want this. I want this part of you.” She presses a kiss to Rachel’s mouth once more and then her lips start a long trail down that gorgeous body, starting with Rachel’s neck, over two very sensitive breasts, ribs, stomach, and now Quinn is settled between Rachel’s legs. She toys with the waistband of Rachel’s panties and traces patterns with anxious fingers over Rachel’s hips. “Do you have any idea how good you smell?” Quinn asks, looking up through her eyelashes. She’s never been this close before, and she’s ready. She closes her eyes and presses a kiss to Rachel’s body, over her underwear. 

As Rachel looks down to find the sight of Quinn gazing up at her, she has to remind herself that it still isn’t time to come, yet. For crying out loud, she still has her panties on. And yet, every single thing Quinn is doing or saying just manages to turn her on, even more. The heat of Quinn’s mouth, even though the thin cotton, has Rachel’s hips rising up off the floor. “Quinn… please, baby… I need you…” 

“I’m right here, Rach,” Quinn tells her, and kisses down the inside of muscular, tan thighs as she slowly drags Rachel’s panties down her legs. Rachel huffs and kicks them off finally, and then Quinn has no more barriers to hide behind. She runs her hands up Rachel’s legs. “Are you ready, Rach?” The look Rachel gives her is half desperate, half annoyed, and Quinn squeezes once on the top of her thigh. “Okay, relax. I’m just nervous,” she mumbles, and then a pink tongue is extended and reaching out hesitantly. She wants this, she just has no idea what to expect. 

When her tongue swipes slowly against something warm, Quinn’s eyes flutter and she pushes forward a little more. Rachel is warm and wet and… salty, and Quinn’s groan is muffled by, well, Rachel.

There’s something resemblant of a sigh from Rachel before she draws out an, “Oh my god, Quinn.” This is… different than what they’ve been doing. It’s more intimate and the pressure of Quinn’s tongue definitely isn’t the same as her fingers. Everything feels… warm. She raises her hips, slightly, and tips her head down to see what, exactly is happening. “That feels amazing.”

Quinn pulls back and wipes the back of her hand across her chin. “Is it… it’s okay?” She blushes. “Because I have to be honest, Rachel… I love it.”

“It’s more than okay,” Rachel says, slightly frustrated that Quinn has stopped. “Just please keep doing it.” Her fingers tighten in Quinn’s hair. “Please.”

Quinn smirks and then she’s got her mouth on Rachel once more, making Rachel pant and whine and her hips lift up off the floor. Quinn laces their fingers together and explores Rachel’s body with her mouth.

Rachel draws out a long, “Oh,” and squeezes Quinn’s hand. She’s trying so hard not to be impatient. It isn’t even that she’s trying to rush anything along, this is just such a new sensation and she has no idea what to expect out of it. She doesn’t know if it’s going to pay off in five minutes or fifteen or fifty. “Baby,” she says, watching the movement of Quinn’s head between her legs (which, by the way, is one of the most arousing sights she’s ever seen), “I can’t wait to do this to you…”

Quinn moans against Rachel’s body and dips lower. There’s just so much to explore right here, and Quinn has never done anything like this before. Never. The level of trust Rachel is showing her is just… She’s never felt so connected to another person in her life. 

The next thing that happens surprises her. She’s licking gently, trying to figure out what makes Rachel react and how much pressure to add and where to put it, and her tongue is suddenly slipping inside, just a little. The feeling is too much and without even waiting to see how Rachel will respond, she’s groaning and pushing in as far as she can. 

The sensation of what Quinn’s tongue is doing draws out a sound from Rachel that’s best described as primal. She releases her hold on Quinn’s hair to reach up behind her own head for some kind of leverage. Her hand wraps around the leg of her desk chair and she arches up, trying to get Quinn deeper into her. The realization of what’s happened, that Quinn is inside of her this way, leaves her with her eyes screwed tightly shut as she mutters, “Fuck…”

Quinn can’t swear, can’t say Rachel’s name, can’t say anything about how she feels in this moment with her tongue buried this far inside of Rachel’s body. The way Rachel is moving, reacting… the way she’s bowing up… The way she’s muttering curses and grinding herself against Quinn’s face, it’s like… it’s like she’s this whole other person, someone Quinn has never seen before. She’s desperate, and Quinn loves it.

It’s the most erotic thing she’s ever experienced, and she would give every possession she has in the world to keep driving Rachel to this point of abandon. She wraps her arms around Rachel’s body and pulls her harder against her own face. She’s running purely on instinct and adrenaline at this point, and she’s so wet herself that she’s actually starting to hurt, but she knows that if she could make Rachel feel like this forever, she would.

There are two different sets of sounds in Quinn’s ears right now— Rachel’s animalistic, desperate noises, and Quinn’s own panting and moaning. There’s also a burning low in her abdomen, and she begins rolling her hips subconsciously against the floor, trying to get some kind of friction for her own relief. The only thought in her mind right now is that Rachel is about to come on her face, and she can’t even wrap her mind around how much she wants it to happen. There’s another growl and another desperate clutching at Rachel’s hips, and when Rachel responds with a cry and grinds harder against her, Quinn feels herself get wetter.

Even with her grasp on the desk chair, Rachel’s frantic for more leverage. Her left heel digs down against the cheap carpet of the dorm room floor while her right foot finds purchase over the span of Quinn’s lower back. She can feel Quinn moving and when she wills her eyes open to see what’s happening, she’s met with not only the image of a blonde head still working diligently between her thighs, she can see her girlfriend grinding her hips against the ground.

“Wh—” 

She intends to ask what Quinn’s doing, despite the fact that it’s obvious. Instead, when Quinn locks her eyes on Rachel’s, that’s it.

It would be over-dramatic and something of an embellishment for Rachel to later claim she came from a single look from Quinn, as there are clearly other factors in play. But it truly is the eye contact that causes her body to writhe one final time against the warmth of Quinn’s mouth before she tenses and slaps the palm of her other hand flat against the ground. She’s thinking Quinn’s name, but what comes out of her mouth is a strangled cry.

By the time Rachel finally collapses, Quinn is so worked up, she has to remind herself that climbing up her girlfriend’s body and grinding herself down until she can come is probably not going to win her the Most Perfect Girlfriend Award. She settles for climbing up her girlfriend’s body and running her fingers through Rachel’s hair. Then, she wipes her mouth with the back of one hand and waits for Rachel to come back to her. 

Rachel’s panting with her head resting against the floor and her mouth hanging open. Her eyes are closed and she’s convinced that she doesn’t even have the energy to open them, so she nuzzles her nose against Quinn’s cheek. “I don’t think I can move,” she slurs, because even her mouth seems to be having a little trouble working the way it should. “Just… need a minute.”

“You don’t have to move, Rach,” Quinn tells her, and kisses the corner of her mouth. “I’ve got you, and I’m not going anywhere.” Laying here together like this, with Rachel trying to recover, Quinn feels totally at peace. Happy. Lucky. There are so many things going through her mind right now. “That was… I can’t even describe it, Rach. It was amazing.”

“I agree,” Rachel says, still a little breathless. She’s able to wrap her arms around Quinn, though and she nudges their lips together and absently thinks that something is different about this kiss before she realizes it’s because she’s tasting herself on Quinn’s mouth and even though it’s not something she would have ever considered to be especially sexy or even appealing, it’s absolutely both of those things. It’s certainly enough to get her to slip her hand behind Quinn’s neck and kiss her more deeply.

It’s such a deep kiss, and when Rachel grips her neck, Quinn realizes that she must be responding to the taste of herself on Quinn’s lips. The thought makes Quinn groan and send a hand back down Rachel’s body, over her ribs and back up again. She knows that what she’s just done will be forever ingrained into her memory. For as long as she lives, she’ll never forget what she feels like in this moment.

“You’ve never looked more beautiful,” Quinn whispers and kisses her again. 

Rachel’s quick to catch Quinn’s hand before it wanders anywhere too sensitive. She’s a little over-stimulated, right now, and more importantly, she doesn’t want any distraction from what she’s about to do for Quinn. For the moment, she rubs her thumb over the raised ink on Quinn’s wrist and she’s warmed by the knowledge that they’re both marked with something they created together.

“That’s because you make me feel this way,” Rachel says, raising Quinn’s arm upward before brushing her lips over the tattoo. She’s quickly understanding why Quinn does it so often to her.

“Rachel,” Quinn breathes, unable to tear her eyes away from Rachel’s face. She’s captivated by it— she’s always been captivated, if she’s honest. She’s trying so hard to be good, to give Rachel time, but it’s almost too much for her. “Rachel, please,” she whispers, and then rocks forward slightly, hoping Rachel will understand. 

“Hmm?” is the response. But Rachel gets it. She needs it just as much as Quinn does, really.

Her hand still wrapped around Quinn’s wrist, she rolls them over, putting her on top, looking down at her girlfriend. “If you don’t want me to rip any of your new clothes, you should probably take them off, now.”

Quinn locks eyes with Rachel and unbuttons her shirt as slowly as she can stand, popping each button and letting the fabric fall open. She still has her tie and her bra, and she takes Rachel’s hand and presses it to her breast as she kisses her. “For the record,” she says between kisses, “you ripping my clothes off would be… kind of hot. I like the idea of you taking what you want.”

“Maybe when you’re not wearing my present,” Rachel says, cupping her hand around Quinn’s breast and squeezing as they kiss again.

As much as she loved the immediacy of what just happened, her knees resting against the thin carpet make her suddenly conscious of the fact that she’s half naked on the floor of her shared dorm room. “Pants off and get on my bed,” is the demand made against Quinn’s lips.

For all of her experience with playing it cool, Quinn Fabray is finally at the point in her life where she could not care less. Once Rachel lets her up, she scrambles to comply, shucking her pants down and kicking them off before getting on Rachel’s bed as requested. No, not requested. Demanded. 

She shivers and lays back, ready for wherever Rachel wants to take this.

Rachel’s on her knees next to the bed, watching Quinn as she does as she’s told. It’s not something Rachel does very often with Quinn, because Quinn’s so incredibly stubborn that she likes to call the shots, when she can. Things are still new with them and Rachel isn’t quite sure what their bedroom dynamic is, if it’s even anything specific. She just knows that the times she has made specific requests, Quinn’s never hesitated. Especially not tonight.

“As I told you before,” she says, pushing herself up off the floor and onto the bed. “I did some reading on this.” She nudges Quinn’s legs apart with one of her own, while taking a moment to kiss Quinn’s neck. Her thigh meets with the abundant wetness between Quinn’s and Rachel groans. “Baby… I haven’t even touched you, yet.”

Rachel pushing against her makes Quinn’s hips surge up off the bed. She can’t help it— she starts working them against Rachel’s thigh, trying to get some amount of friction. She’s so wet, and she knows that she’s basically just coating Rachel’s skin, up and down, but she can’t help it. She’s so turned on and all she can think about is how Rachel’s body feels against hers and how, when she came, she clamped her legs so tightly around Quinn’s head and a gush of hot wetness flooded Quinn’s mouth. She groans at the memory. She’s never been this close to orgasm before without even being touched. 

“Rachel,” she gasps, “the second you touch me— god, I’m not going to last.” She’s working her hips furiously against Rachel now— the exact term is humping, Quinn thinks in a haze— and squeezing Rachel’s ass as hard as she can to bring them closer together. 

“Then maybe,” Rachel says, making her best effort to still Quinn’s hips beneath her, “you should let me do what I’ve been wanting to do.” Her mouth finds the shell of Quinn’s ear. “I did say I wanted to go down on you, remember?”

“God, please…” She actually feels like she might cry, she’s so ready for something to happen. The fact that Rachel even wants to adds another boost to her arousal. “Please just…” 

It’s one of those rare moments when she’s no longer in control. It doesn’t happen very often, but when she loses it, she really loses it. Her thoughts are no longer happening in words. They’re just feelings and emotions and need. She half claws, half pushes at Rachel and hopes that her girlfriend has some kind of mercy on her and doesn’t make her wait. 

There’s a chuckle from Rachel as she makes a speedy descent down Quinn’s body, stopping only briefly to leave a light hickey on the smooth skin of her stomach, and then she’s settling between Quinn’s legs and presented with the reality that her girlfriend is intensely physically aroused.

She realizes that all the reading in the world wouldn’t have prepared her for the way she feels, right now, the way she’s driven by the need to bring relief to the woman she loves. Like with anything she does, Rachel doesn’t tiptoe or take her time (the time for evaluation has long passed); she dives right in. The second her lips and tongue are met with the warm slickness of Quinn, she groans, in part because of how close she feels to Quinn, but also because of the way Quinn immediately moves against her.

The feeling is incredible. She can hear the noises she herself is making, and it doesn’t even sound like her anymore. It’s this other thing, this separate entity that Rachel is driving to these undefinable heights with her mouth.

Quinn’s hips are working again, and she’s trying to restrain herself— she really is— but the need to get closer, to have more, is overwhelming. When she realizes what she’s doing, that she’s essentially rubbing herself against Rachel’s face, she groans again. Nothing about this situation should be sexy, objectively speaking, but the thrill of what they’re doing still sparks all the way through her. 

She braces one hand against the headboard and pushes against it to give herself some more leverage. She hears Rachel’s name, raw and primitive, and realizes that it’s her own voice rasping it out, in time with the thrusts her body is making. She’s never felt so good in her life. 

Rachel’s trying to figure out some kind of stroke or rhythm that’s best to accommodate Quinn, but with the frantic way Quinn is moving and knowing the circumstances surrounding this particular physical engagement probably aren’t going to be the standard of the activity in the future, she just does her best to keep moving, to keep working her tongue over sensitive flesh. It seems like, for now, that’s the best and only strategy.

She wants to be more connected, though, so one hand gropes upward until she finds Quinn’s arm and follows the path of it down to her hand.

Quinn laces her fingers with Rachel’s and squeezes. In a way, it feel like the only thing keep her from exploding into a million pieces. 

Rachel moves her tongue just so, and Quinn tosses her head on Rachel’s pillow. 

“Oh god…” Quinn groans. “Oh my god.” 

She abandons the headboard and grasps blindly at her own breast, squeezing roughly. Her head is still moving on the pillow, and her hair feels like it’s everywhere. Whatever Rachel is doing is—

“Fuck, Rach.”

Rachel grips Quinn’s hand tighter and tips her head a little further forward, hoping it adds needed pressure to the right place. It’s still so hard to tell what’s actually working and what’s just blind friction, because Quinn hasn’t stopped moving since they started this.

Quinn is close. She’s so close, and it feels so good, and when she finally pries her eyes open and sees Rachel between her legs, she growls and thrusts down harder. 

“So… fuck… so sexy,” she pants. “Can you… fingers…”

She’s lucky she can focus enough to get that much out coherently. 

Rachel tries to nod, but it’s difficult given, well, everything. She pushes Quinn’s leg up out of the way, leaving it resting over her shoulder, so she can reach where she needs to be. Quinn’s wetter than Rachel’s ever felt before and her fingers slip so easily inside, she wonders if it will even do anything for Quinn.

She looks up, trying to get some kind of signal or direction for what to do next.

Quinn’s back bows and her heel digs into Rachel’s back as she grinds down harder on Rachel’s mouth and fingers. “More,” she manages. “…one more.”

At some point in the future, she’ll remember this and realize how absolutely unhinged she was while Rachel did this to her. How much she needed Rachel to give this to her.

“Rachel, please,” she says again, like her girlfriend is intent on withholding what she needs.

Rachel groans and immediately complies. Quinn’s still so incredibly flooded, but now she’s also warm and tight around Rachel’s fingers. Her main purpose in life, at this moment, is to make sure Quinn comes. It certainly doesn’t seem like a difficult task, but she’s intent on making it happen.

Quinn lasts maybe a few more thrusts. Between how hard she herself is working and the intensity that Rachel is showing, Quinn is arching up and grasping at the sheets with her free hand in less than a minute. 

“Oh my god,” she gasps as she trembles. “Oh my god, Rach.” 

It’s the most intense orgasm she’s ever experienced, and Rachel keeps moving against her while she thrashes and gasps. Finally, it’s too much, and she holds up a weak hand for Rachel to stop.

Rachel pulls back, then takes a moment to rest her head against Quinn’s thigh. She wipes her hand on the sheets, then frees her other hand from Quinn’s fingers so she can wipe at her mouth. She feels sweaty and a little sticky and she knows the room smells like sex. She feels both sated and accomplished.

“You okay?” she asks, pushing herself up so she can stretch herself out against Quinn.

“Mmm,” Quinn hums. She can’t open her eyes yet; her entire body is still humming and pulsing. Her arm is around Rachel, and she can feel her own fingers running gently through Rachel’s hair, but she still feels like she’s out of her own body. 

Rachel reaches down to find the top sheet so they can cover up with it. As she rubs her fingers over Quinn’s stomach through the patterned fabric, she asks, “That day I asked you for an opinion on sheets, did you ever think we’d be doing this on them?”

The laugh bubbles up Quinn’s throat, and she covers her face with her hand as it bursts out. 

“Oh my god, no. I was still trying to figure out why I wanted to murder you every time you opened your mouth.” She finally gets her eyes open and looks into Rachel’s eyes. Her voice is softer when she says, “And you were so worried about coming here.” 

“And you told me I shouldn’t worry about what anyone thinks of me.” Rachel tucks her head under Quinn’s chin and wraps an arm around her.

“I still think that, Rachel,” Quinn says, absorbing the way that Rachel is folding into her. “No matter what happens in your career. You have this way of just being you no matter what people say or do, and… it’s something I could never do. I’ve always been so worried what people think of me, but you… you’ve never been the kind of girl to take anyone’s bullshit lying down.”

Rachel hugs herself even more tightly against Quinn. Their legs are wrapped together and even though they’re both still partially dressed, it’s an incredibly close and intimate moment.

“Maybe not, but I’ve been known to take you lying down.” She laughs and brushes her lips over Quinn’s collar bone. 

The topic change, along with the feeling of Rachel’s lips on her collar bone, makes Quinn smirk. “You should tell me about your dream,” she says.

“I don’t think you have any idea what you’re getting into, asking that,” says Rachel. “Especially after what just happened. We might die of exhaustion.” She lifts her head up to kiss Quinn’s jaw. “Because it was a rather illicit dream and talking about it is just going to get me worked up, again.”

“Well maybe I should just tell you that you said you’ve taken me lying down, which made me think of… taking you standing up. Maybe against a door or wall… it led kind of naturally into asking for the details of your dream, actually.” She kisses Rachel’s temple. “And for the record? I’m not afraid of you.”

Rachel breathes a groan against Quinn’s neck. “Sounds like you already have a pretty clear scenario in mind.” She’s torn, because more sex would definitely be worth the effort, but she’s also happy lying in Quinn’s arms. “What if we… rest for a little while first. Then I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.” She kisses Quinn’s cheek, then places another on the bridge of her nose. “You have to be exhausted, Quinn.”

“Rach,” Quinn says, tightening her hold, “I am pretty exhausted, but I can sleep on the plane. I just want to be with you now, whatever way you want to be together. I miss you.” She runs her hand through Rachel’s hair again. “I don’t have any expectations of you, other than just being here with me.”

“Mmmkay.” Rachel trails a fingertip over the top edge of Quinn’s bra. “I would, at least, like to get you out of the rest of your clothes. But I’m also very open to the idea of not really moving, at all. I’m pretty sure you burned up my energy boost, already.”

Quinn laughs. Of course Rachel took an energy boost. “I told you before. I’m not going anywhere.” She scratches lightly over Rachel’s back. “I do really love you in this shirt.” Just laying here with Rachel makes her finally feel like her life might actually turn out okay for once.

“I…” Rachel can’t seem to resist tugging on the tie, again. “Really love you in this. Get more. Wear them a lot.”

“Mmm, you’d better be careful, doing that,” Quinn murmurs. “If I’m not allowed to ask about your dream, you’re not allowed to pull on my hair or my tie.”

Rachel stops pulling and resorts to trailing the tip of the tie in patterns over Quinn’s chest. “Tell me more about Paris. Did you have a translator? Or did you just wing it?”

“My mentor Gabriel grew up there. He’s the one I’ll be working with once I move here.” There are goosebumps all over Quinn’s skin from what Rachel is doing with the tie. Her breath is deepening and she tries to stay focused on what Rachel is asking her. “Paris was so beautiful, Rach. The seminars we went to were fascinating, and the shops and cafes… It was amazing. I really meant it when I said that I want to take you. It’s so different from New York.”

“Well, Quinn Fabray, I cannot wait until the day you take me to Paris.” Rachel flips the tie upward and it hits Quinn in the nose. “I’ve never heard you speak French, you know.”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “And now you’re trying to get me to talk dirty to you in French.” 

“I didn’t say that. But now that you’ve brought it up, I think you probably should.”

“I’m not very good,” Quinn tells her, but she thinks for a minute anyway. What is the perfect phrase to whisper in French to a half-naked Rachel Berry? “Dans tes bras c’est mon destin,” she whispers. And then she translates in the same hushed tone, “My destiny is in your arms.”

Rachel smiles and buries her face against Quinn’s neck, pressing a soft, lingering kiss there. “I really like that.” She looks down, wrapping her hand around Quinn’s inked wrist. “It’s also on your arm.”

“It’s on yours, too,” Quinn reminds her. The ink is different, the lettering is different, but it’s very clear, at least to the both of them, that they belong together, these tattoos. “It was either that or ‘tes yeux- j’en reve jour et nuit.’” Quinn bites her lip. This is probably too cheesy, even for Rachel, but she translates anyway. “I dream about your eyes day and night.”

There’s really no such thing as something being too over the top for Rachel Berry. She sighs and says, “Your arms around me. When I’m lying in bed at night. That’s what I dream about. When I’m not dreaming about… the other thing.”

“You said that we couldn’t talk about that tonight. But the other dream… that one I can make happen right now.” She runs her hand across Rachel’s back again and then lets it sink much lower. Nothing urgent, just gentle caresses, enjoying the feel of her girlfriend’s skin. “I don’t know if you have class tomorrow, and I’m okay if you just want to be for the rest of the night, but… I probably won’t sleep much tonight.” She moves her hand again, back up and under Rachel’s shirt, between her shoulder blades, and then all the way back down. “I only have a few hours with you, and I’ll be awake for it. I can sleep later.”

“I said we shouldn’t,” Rachel corrects. “But I’m happy just doing this. For now.” She pushes herself up on her elbow so she can look at Quinn, with her blonde hair splayed across the pillow and the evidence of jetlag creeping under her eyes. Her fingers straighten out the tie so it lies directly down the middle of Quinn’s body, they she reaches up to clear away the strands of hair that are swept across Quinn’s forehead. “I love you,” she says and it feels like the first time she’s said it when it hasn’t been frantic or hidden behind something else. She isn’t worried about Quinn’s reaction to it, she isn’t trying to make her realize anything. She’s just in love and needs to tell Quinn exactly that.

The tiny puff of breath that comes out of Quinn’s mouth sounds like ah or oh or some other word that isn’t a word exactly and she says, “Rach… I love you. And I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to say it.” She brings Rachel’s wrist up and brushes her lips across the tattoo once more. “I’ve never… this is totally new to me, this feeling. And I’m glad it’s you.”

“I’m glad it’s me, too.”


	46. Mother to Daughter

Judy’s been baking. 

She’s actually still wearing an apron as she wipes up the counter while the final batch of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies finishing out their time in the oven. It’s been about eight years since she made these for Quinn. She doesn’t even know if they’re still her favorite but once upon a time, they were the most requested after school snack of her younger daughter. Quinn would pile them onto a plate and disappear into her bedroom (or the study, during the winter, so she could sit by the fire) with a book tucked under her arm.

There’s a glass on the counter with a wedge of lime floating in some club soda. It doesn’t take the edge off like it would if there were actual vodka in it, but if she’s honest with herself, the act of baking has been refreshing, though a bit painful from the nostalgia of it. On the center island is a cooling rack, covered in cookies, and cookie tin that’s already full.

The front door opens then shuts and Judy knows this is her window to act, because Quinn has dinner with Shelby and Beth this evening, as she has the past several weeks. She still doesn’t quite understand how Quinn can manage being around her daughter without actually having the right to be her mother, because she knows, for herself, it would be impossibly difficult. She also knows Quinn’s much stronger than she ever was.

“Quinn?” she calls out, untying the apron and hanging it back on the hook that, up until now, has been empty for years.

When Quinn hears her mother calling from the kitchen, she’s surprised. Most of the past year, they’ve been roommates, at best. They haven’t had much to say to each other, really. Quinn does just fine on her own. She registers the smell of something good and heads into the kitchen. 

“Are you… baking?” Her eyes land on the glass on the counter, and she rolls her eyes. Baking drunk. Fabulous. Her mother could have burned the entire house down. 

“I had an urge and ran with it,” Judy says, not missing Quinn’s reaction to the glass on the counter. There’s no point in ignoring it, because this is always going to be an issue with them, and that’s all her own fault. “It’s soda and lime.” She busies herself with the remainder of the kitchen clean up as she talks. “Would you like one? Or do you want tea? Or, I suppose no one really outgrows milk with cookies.”

Quinn narrows her eyes and folds her arms across her chest. If Dr. Radcliffe were here, she would probably say something about Quinn’s defensive posture, but she isn’t and Quinn could really not care less. “What’s going on?”

Judy shuts off the faucet and places the mixing bowl she’s just washed in the dish drainer. As she turns around to face Quinn, she dries her hands on a dish towel, then neatly folds it before placing it on the counter. “I thought it would be nice for you to take some with you tonight.”

“You… made cookies for me to take to Shelby’s?” She glances at the glass on the counter again. On one hand, it’s exactly like her mother to lie. There’s a reason it comes so easily to Quinn. On the other, she’s strangely lucid and… almost chipper. She’s baking, for god’s sake. Which means, she’s trying, and that’s more than Quinn has seen in months. She drops her arms. “Did something happen? Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine.” Judy places three cookies on a plate and slides it across the kitchen island to Quinn. “My youngest child is about to move a thousand miles away from me and I thought it was time I… well, I haven’t done anything like this in a while. I thought it better late than never, as they say.”

“Oatmeal chocolate chip,” Quinn murmurs. Memories of childhood, long since banished, flood her brain— memories of Lucy and her books and her never ending adoration for a father that only wanted the world for her. The tears come quickly and silently, and Quinn takes a small bite of one cookie while she’s faced with a childhood that she’s tried to forget for so long. These cookies— they were made by a woman who has made many mistakes in her life. A woman who has barely seen the grandchild that she made them for. “Thank you,” she says in a voice that sounds a lot like Lucy’s. 

“Did I get it right?” Judy asks, breaking off a small piece to taste for herself. “The recipe is still the same, but it’s been so long…”

Quinn flashes a hard look at her mother. Of course it isn’t the same as before. The little girl that used to eat these cookies has been lost for a long time, and one plate of chocolate chip oatmeal cookies isn’t going to bring her back. She takes another bite. “They’re pretty good,” is what she says out loud. It’s nothing close to what she’s feeling, but this family doesn’t deal in emotions. There are still tears in her eyes when she adds, “She’s beautiful, mom.”

Judy takes a deep drink of her soda and lime, almost forgetting that there isn’t anything else in the beverage. “I saw the photos you left sitting on the end table in the living room. The three of you make a very…” There’s no right way to say whatever it is she’s thinking. “She looks just like you did at that age.”

A perfectly sculpted eyebrow lifts right on cue. Of course her mother is still thinking of them as a couple. Quinn decides to let it go, for now, in favor of talking about Beth. “Do you really think so? I never thought it would be possible for me to feel about another person like I do about her. She’s… this perfect thing.” Quinn sets her unfinished cookie down on the counter. “I finally did something right.”

The name ‘Lucy’ is on the tip of Judy’s tongue, but she catches herself before it comes out. “Quinnie, I have watched you try so hard, for so long, to try and be perfect for me, for your father, for everyone and…” Sobriety makes all of this feel so real, it’s really too much. But she’s trying, for Quinn, to do this. “We’ve all made mistakes. But that child certainly isn’t one and I’m… proud of you for making sure she’s well cared for.” She knows her blessing is the last thing Quinn wants, but she’s offering it. “And they all seem perfect until they mash your lipstick into the carpet.”

“I wasn’t even walking yet when I did that! I don’t even remember it.”

“I think we still have photos in an album, somewhere.”

“Frannie framed me, for all I know. I was an innocent baby!” This, what’s happening with her mother right now, it hasn’t happened in a long time— years, maybe— and Quinn is starting to feel slightly out of her depth. She’s glad for it, that her mother is trying, but she’s just not entirely sure how she’s supposed to be okay with any of this. It makes her want to yell at her mother, to scream that it’s not okay. It makes her want to cry over everything that’s happened. It makes her want more. 

“You were acting on your own, I believe. But Frannie also once ate cat food, so you both had your share of incidents.” Judy laughs lightly at the memory, but it’s also an odd feeling, sharing a moment like this with Quinn.

Quinn laughs and pulls a face. “Oh my god! When did we ever have a cat?”

“We didn’t. It was…” Judy tries to remember where the incident occurred. “I think at Patrick and Sally Davidson’s house. We were there for a bible study and their daughter used to watch you girls for us.”

“And she just… ate their cat food? That’s so much worse than getting into your lipstick.”

There are probably a hundred different things Judy could recall from the younger years of both Fabray girls, but the thought on the forefront of Judy’s mind, the one that inspired her to bake cookies and avoid the liquor cabinet for at least a full afternoon, is, “I’m going to miss you, when you go. I know we haven’t quite been getting along here, but that doesn’t mean I won’t worry about you.”

And just like that, Quinn is brought back to earth. The lipstick, the cat food, the cookies… the pictures of Beth. It’s all just new paint on a totaled car. “Mom…” The idea of leaving her mother here, alone, to drink herself to death is not a happy one, and she’s been doing a fantastic job of ignoring the fact that that’s exactly what she’s doing. “Can we not do this? I’m already worried that leaving you is only going to make the depression worse.”

It’s difficult enough that Judy has to live with the looks she receives from Quinn, the disapproval of her drinking, and the knowledge that they probably will never be close, at least not anytime soon. But hearing her own daughter confess that she’s worried about her, makes her feel terrible.

“You should know that tonight, while you’re at dinner, I’ll be at a meeting.”

Quinn’s mouth drops open— she can’t help it. “You’re going to a meeting tonight? Voluntarily?”

Judy just nods and packs the rest of the cookies into a tupperware container.

This is big. This is a huge step for Judy, and Quinn moves into her space but doesn’t touch her. She waits until Judy’s eyes meet hers and then she says the only thing she’s feeling right now: “Thank you.”

Again, Judy can only nod, because she doesn’t know what to say. She very lightly places her arms around Quinn in an incredibly awkward hug.

Quinn can’t tell her that she wants her to meet her granddaughter and this is the one thing standing in her way. Then again, it may be enough to motivate her to stick with it this time. “You know,” she ventures, “I would really love to introduce you to Beth, but until things… start looking up, I don’t see Shelby agreeing to let you come over.” She knows it’s harsh, but it’s for her own good, really. 

“I understand,” Judy says, clearing her throat and reaching again for her club soda. “I honestly admire the way you’re able to interact in Beth’s life this way. I don’t know that I’d be able to do what you’ve done.”

Quinn is suddenly fierce. “Stop it. You can do it. In case you’ve forgotten, you’re the woman who threw Russell out and was by her daughter’s side when she was in a hospital giving birth. I came from you.” She waves her hand at the cookies. “This? These cookies? This water and lime? It’s a good start, mom, but that’s exactly what it is. A start. You can do this. You just have to not quit when it gets hard.”

“Soda and lime, dear,” Judy corrects. “I appreciate your faith in me.” There’s something else she wants to address, but it’s a topic she doesn’t at all know how to discuss. “You’ve been in a rather upbeat mood lately and it’s been… motivating.”

“Soda and lime,” Quinn acknowledges. “Maybe it’s because I got the chance to be back in my daughter’s life. Or maybe it’s the prestigious award I’ve just won.” She bites her lip. “It might be Rachel,” she says quietly. 

“You’re happy. I can see that. I may not fully understand all of it, but… I see it,” Judy repeats.

“I am, mom,” Quinn says. “I’m very happy. She makes me very happy. And I’m not expecting you to just be okay with everything overnight. It will take a lot of processing. It took me years to process it. I’m just asking you to try and give her a chance.”

Years. Quinn’s been dealing with this for years. Judy isn’t even sure what that means. “I can’t stop you, Quinn, especially with you leaving home. And I don’t want to get in the way of something that’s… genuinely bringing you happiness.” Ever since that night in the car, it’s been on her mind, the concept of her daughter in a relationship with this Rachel Berry girl. She doesn’t agree with it, because her religion doesn’t accept it. But she also can’t deny the truth that Quinn has changed over the summer, she’s brooded less and been more motivated. Even through the haze of liquor, she’s noticed the shift.

And if Judy herself is strong enough to admit that the drinking is a problem, then perhaps she’s enough of her own person to determine that her daughter’s happiness isn’t rooted in mortal sin. But she isn’t in a place to readily say any of that. Not yet.

“I’m not asking for anything,” Quinn says simply. She’s not upset or angry or hurt; she’s just tired. She’s tired of the alcohol and running from Rachel and chasing after Beth and trying to hide her mother. “She’ll be visiting in a few weeks. You can— I’d be happy to invite her over for dinner if you’d like to get to know her.”

Judy’s silent for a long moment. She really wants to drink, but she can’t. She can’t because Quinn is there, actually offering something to her. She can’t because she’s going to a meeting in less than an hour. She can’t because she’s trying to be strong for once in her life.

“I suppose that’s a start.”


	47. The Bropartment

Quinn’s mental image of Puck and Sam’s apartment includes Star Wars and Lord of the Rings posters, shelves full of comics (Sam) and porn (Puck), and she knows that there is at least one set of throwing stars somewhere inside. But other than that, she really has no idea what to expect for tonight. She’s here because they both have been good friends to her this year, and now that she’s leaving Lima, she won’t get to see them much in the near future, maybe longer.

It’s that idea, more than the nightmares she’s been having of some kind of weird rodent creatures living in the kitchen cabinets, that has her lifting her hand and knocking on the door. 

Sam opens the door wearing a smile and his Trouty Mouth shirt. “Hey, Q!” he says brightly, but his face falls as he watches her eyes flicker to his chest and her eyebrow raise. “It’s laundry day, okay?” he grumbles. “Don’t judge me.”

Puck laughs from within the apartment. “It better than that backwards ass Jedi robe you wear.”

Quinn follows Sam into the apartment and takes in what Puck is wearing— no shirt and a pair of boxers— and she rolls her eyes. “Well, at least Sam is wearing actual clothing,” she says. She holds up a small photo album. “I’ve got some new shots of Bit, and I thought you might like a new album. It’s the manliest one I could find, but if it’s still not ‘dude’ enough for you, I won’t be offended if you wrap it in duct tape or whatever it is you guys do.” She tosses it to him and turns to wrap her arms around Sam’s neck and pull him in for a hug. “Hi,” she says.

“It’s a freaking Snuggie, okay,” Sam snaps at Puck, “and it’s as comfortable as— oh, hugs!” Sam chuckles and lets himself get yanked downward, returning Quinn’s embrace. He’s not used to this— Quinn being openly physically affectionate, just because she’s in a good mood, just because she’s happy— but it really, really suits her. “Actually, that works. It’s as comfortable as hugs.” He gives her an extra squeeze, then lets her go.

Puck catches the album and flips through it, grinning at the pictures of Beth. “Cool.” He closes it and briefly glances at the cover. It doesn’t have flowers or say “Besties for Life” or anything on it, so he shrugs and places it on the living room bookshelf. “I guess I’ll go put pants on.”

“Thank you so much,” Quinn says dryly and when he walks past her down the hallway, she notices a pair of samurai swords hanging on the wall there. Well, she wasn’t far off when she was imagining what kind of decor Puck and Sam would share together. It’s still not as bad as she thought it would be, but there is no way on earth that she’s letting Beth over here with weapons all over the place. “What’s on the agenda for tonight,” she asks Sam, trying to ignore the loud thump and accompanying string of curses coming from the back room. 

“They’re authentic,” Sam notes, when he sees where Quinn’s looking. “We got them on eBay. And, um, we figured we’d let you pick, because…” He trails off, unsure of how to translate she’ll bitch about all the awesome shit we do from Puck-speak into English, and he’s pretty sure she’ll get what he means by his half-shrug. He winces at the racket. “Puck, you alive?” he shouts.

“Yeah, bro,” Puck says, emerging from his room. He’s now clad in a pair of ratty jeans and he has a t-shirt around his neck, but he has yet to put his arms through the holes. “Just couldn’t find any socks. Not like I need ‘em if we’re just in here, though.” He nods to Quinn. “You pick something, yet?”

“Well, have you eaten any type of real food in the past week? Real food, Puck. Not candy or—” 

“— I made a quesadilla last night. I used that Taco Bell sauce and everything.”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “Okay, so one night you had some kind of frozan quesadilla this week. Do you not want me to make anything for dinner?”

Sam can’t help the way his eyes go wide and pleading. “Oh my god, would you? Really?”

Even Puck is a little surprised at the offer. “That’s not against women’s equality or whatever?”

“Oh my god, no. I like cooking. But that comment— you know what? Nevermind. Do you guys even have any food in here?”

Sam just snorts and nods his head, indicating for her to follow him into the kitchenette. He opens the door to the fridge, making sweeping gestures with his hand. “Sam’s shelf,” he says, pointing to the top shelf, which had a decent assortment of fresh vegetables amongst the leftovers containers and skim milk. The bottom, shelf, however… “Puck’s.”

“Hey, nothing on my shelf is rotten or anything,” Puck says. Granted, it’s mostly beer, Kraft singles, and condiments. He opens one of the lower cupboards to show off the ten pound bag of rice he bought at least six months ago. “And I have rice.”

Quinn examines the ingredients on hand and then says, “So… stir fry.” She cocks an eyebrow. “Either of you going to be my sous chef or will you both be playing something violent in the living room?”

“Like what? Metallica?” Sam asks. At her expression, he realizes she probably meant a video game, and not… music. He laughs at himself, flushing. “I’ll be helper guy. I am excellent at dicing. And chopping.”

“I’m not so bad at kitchen stuff, either. I used to help my mom make tv dinners and those cookies from the tube.” Puck re-opens the fridge and digs through his collection of condiments, fishing out at least a dozen packets of soy sauce. “Here,” he says, dropping them on the counter. “What else do you need for this?”

Quinn sets Sam to chopping vegetables, and it feels like old times. They used to cook together when they babysat, and they’ve always worked well together. Adding Puck to the mix is what makes it different, and he just seems so happy that they’re all together and genuinely interested in being a part of what’s going on that Quinn can’t help but compare this Puck to pre-Beth Puck. She’s changed all of them, certainly, but Puck seems to be the most affected. She watches him set the table (after a brief dispute which carried the main argument “but we always eat on the couch— we have tv trays for a reason!”) and thinks that the past year has been very good to him. 

They eat together, the three of them at the table, and even though Quinn’s glass has some kind of character from a comic book she’s never heard of on it, it feels surprisingly normal. They’re not exactly family, but there’s no denying that there’s a bond here, and Quinn feels truly happy. 

After dinner, Sam packs up the leftovers and Quinn washes the dishes, handing them to Puck to dry. 

“—I will give you Hal Jordan, fine,” Sam says, still stuck on her insistence that the character on her glass is totally unfamiliar to her, “Maybe you didn’t know his name was Hal Jordan, maybe you only saw a bit of the Justice League cartoon and you think of Jon Stewart, but you have to have heard of Green Lantern. He’s the Green Lantern.”

“Dude, I keep telling you, Quinn reads books without pictures. I once tried to get her to look at a vintage 90’s Drew Barrymore Playboy issue with me and she rolled it up and hit me in the head with it.” Puck’s at least smart enough to be out of Quinn’s reach when he says it, though he isn’t sure that she won’t throw something at him.

“I— we are arguing about very different things,” Sam points out. “And I like Drew Barrymore, but… dude. Why?”

“Did you not hear the vintage part? It’s important to know where we came from. History.” Puck looks at Quinn. “I’m right. Tell him I’m right.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Quinn says, draining the sink. “I don’t even know how to respond to the fact that you think that naked pictures of Drew Barrymore constitutes history.” She dries her hands. “Or that 1990 is vintage.”

“1995,” Puck corrects. “It was a long time ago.”

“I’m just trying to figure out why you think Quinn would be on your side, when this whole conversation started with you saying she hit you with the magazine in the first place,” Sam says. After a moment, he adds quietly, “I just wanted to talk about Green Lantern.”

“Green Lantern,” Quinn says. She’s happy to have some other topic than Playboy. It’s not that she’s offended by it; it’s that she doesn’t really need Playboy, since Rachel has taken to sending her pictures of herself in lingerie and various poses. She’s more concerned that she’ll say something stupid and give herself away. Puck and Sam don’t need to know that when Quinn is alone in her bedroom at night, she looks at pictures of Rachel on her computer. At any rate, she’s grateful for the subject change. “I feel like I’ve heard of him. Is there a movie?”

Sam scowls. “There’s a monstrosity.”

Puck groans and pulls at the sides of the dishtowel that, for some reason, he has slung behind his neck. “Don’t get him started.”

Quinn grins. “Well, it’s either Green Lantern or naked girls, apparently, so…”

“We could compromise and talk about Star Sapphire,” Sam jokes, and then blinks in the quiet that follows. “…Wrong crowd. Nevermind.”

“Dinner was pretty awesome, Q,” Puck says, swinging the towel around and lightly slapping her arm with it. “We should have started doing this earlier.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” Quinn asks, and she’s not talking about the food. She likes hanging out with Sam and Puck. They’re like her tribe, kind of. She doesn’t get Sam’s references half the time, and Puck can definitely tax her patience, but she also really just fits with them, somehow. “So… what now?”

“Um, usually we do music, a movie, or gaming.” Sam smiles self-deprecatingly. “We couldn’t think of a good M-word for that.”

“Well, I did dinner, so I’m good with whatever we’re doing tonight. Let’s just do whatever you guys would normally do,” Quinn says.

“Before Finn shipped off to Basic, we’d sometimes play poker,” Puck says. He shoots a sideways glance at Quinn. “I don’t know about playing with you, though.”

“Why wouldn’t you play with me?” Quinn asks coolly, lifting an eyebrow. 

“If anyone here’s a card shark, it’s you,” Puck replies.

Quinn laughs. “I am not a card shark!” 

Sam’s got a lot of experience to the contrary, but he shrugs and says “I’ll go get my deck” anyway. Quinn being better than him at everything is just kind of a fact of life. He figures Puck also accepted that a long time ago.

“You are, though!” Puck insists. “I remember now. Because you and Becca made me play Old Maid with you that time and I think you kept changing the rules on me.”

“So suddenly cheating at Old Maid equals being a shark?” Quinn bites her lip. “Maybe in vintage 1995…”

“Wait. We’re back on porn and I missed it?” Sam asks, re-entering the living room.

“Don’t bet real money, dude. I’m just saying.”

“Nobody is back on porn,” Quinn says, taking the deck from Sam. She drops into a chair at the table and begins shuffling. “Are you guys playing or not?”

“Sure, I’m in,” Sam says, pulling out a chair for her before sitting in one himself. “Or, wait. Should I be offering you a drink now? Is that the host-y etiquette thing to do?” He frowns. “Well, I mean. It’s Puck’s beer, so I guess either way I’m being rude to someone.”

“If it’s poker night, the beer is fair game,” says Puck. “If you even drink beer, Q.”

“I’ll pass,” Quinn says, and deals the cards. She doesn’t think she needs to say it, but she does anyway, just to be sure. “Hold ‘Em.”

Sam’s already up and half-buried in the refrigerator. “Water or anything, though?” he asks, pulling out bottles for himself and Puck.

“Water, thanks,” Quinn says, just as her phone goes off— “Let’s Get It On.” Crap. It’s a text from Rachel, and now both Puck and Sam are looking at her with near identical expressions. She silences it, but it’s too late. She ignores them and reads Rachel’s text, which is… well. More about knee socks. And now her entire face feels like it’s on fire. She shoves her phone in her pocket and goes back to her cards. 

Puck doesn’t say anything and looks at his cards. When Sam hands him his beer, he pops off the cap and takes a drink before he begins humming the chorus to the song that was just playing out of Quinn’s phone a moment ago.

“Shut up,” Quinn mumbles. She knows her face is red and the rest of her is…well, in the beginning stages of being turned on. She arranges her cards, and the places them face down on the table so she can send a quick text back. 

I’m with Puck and Sam tonight, baby. It’s not… a good time right now, but I can call you later.

“What happened to ‘using Marvin Gaye is cliche and classless?’” Sam asks, grinning. He’s shit with reading, but he’s always had an excellent aural memory, and he’s pretty sure Quinn said that to him basically word for word back when they were dating.

“Shut up.” The ringtone plays again, and Quinn is somewhere between annoyed and aroused. She checks the message and has to close her eyes for a second to clear the fog out of her head. Apparently, Rachel has been shopping and has made several new purchases. The picture on her phone right now was clearly taken by Rachel, of her lower half: a short plaid skirt, knee socks, and Mary Janes. “Fuck,” Quinn mutters and tries to refocus. 

Puck’s trying so hard to not say anything, but he can’t keep himself from smirking in reaction to the fact that Quinn is obviously on the receiving end of some awesome sexts, maybe even pictures. If it were anyone else, he’d ask to see, but he values his life and he’d prefer to keep Puckzilla intact, so he calls on the bet and takes another slug of his beer.

“No flaunting having a girlfriend in front of your single friends,” Sam grumbles into his own bottle. “Bro code.”

“Oh my god,” Quinn says. “I’m not flaunting anything.” She at least manages to get her ringer turned off so that if any more come through, it’ll only vibrate instead of playing Marvin Gaye. And she’s willing to bet that there will be plenty more coming through— Rachel doesn’t seem the least bit concerned that Quinn can’t… reciprocate right now.

Puck wins the hand, so he doesn’t really care about flaunting girlfriends or not, though by the middle of the next hand, he’s curious. “Okay, if you’re going to keep reading the messages, you have to at least let us ask you something.”

By this point, Quinn is half hiding her face with her hand. “What is it?”

“First I have to know if we each get a question or if we have to, like, combine it.” Puck is dead serious.

She glares at him. “I’m not a freaking leprechaun or a genie or something. I’m not granting wishes, Puck. Ask your damn question.”

“Just know I’m asking you this, as a bro,” Puck begins, still wary because there’s no guarantee that Quinn won’t deck him across the table. “How long have you two actually been…” he considers his phrasing, because he knows his audience, “you know… having lesbi-course or whatever it’s called.”

“Lesbi-course?” Quinn can’t even think of how to correct this. It’s… so entirely far off the mark. Still, she knows what he’s asking, and she considers for a minute before she decides that Rachel probably wouldn’t care if she answers this, as long as she doesn’t go into detail. “I don’t see why it matters, but… July,” she says, sipping her water. No details. 

“And you’re happy,” Puck says. He’s not asking, because it’s apparent in Quinn’s whole attitude.

“I’m happy,” she agrees, playing a card.

Sam raises his bottle in a toast. “To Happy Quinn,” he says, winking at her, then thinks and adds, “and never calling it lesbi-course ever again.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Quinn mumbles and reaches for her water, giving Puck a dirty look. 

Puck shakes his head. “You don’t even want to know what I was going to say when I first thought about what I wanted to ask.”

“Oh my god. What were you going to ask?” Quinn asks.

“Same question, just different terminology.” Puck sighs as Quinn still looks at him, expectantly. “Mashing cats,” he finally says. “And that look is exactly why I chose lesbi-course. Hell, I’d choose it every time, if I could.”

Sam kicks Puck under the table. “Dude.”

“Why do I always get crap for being honest?” Puck asks, putting his hands up.

“Is that what it is? Honesty? Are you sure it’s not just you being vulgar and disgusting?” Quinn asks. “To say nothing of the fact that neither of us are lesbians. So it’s just plain inaccurate.” 

Puck shrugs. “I’m honestly vulgar, okay? I know it. I don’t hide it. I own it.”

Quinn is not convinced. “Mhm.”

“Okay, when I’m out with Bit, I definitely try to not be the same old dumbass I’ve always been. But at home…”

“You suck,” Sam finishes, before playing his hand. “Mostly at poker, apparently.”

While Puck and Sam squabble, Quinn takes out her phone and texts Rachel: Sam and Puck say hi.


	48. Get(ting) it Right

It’s not as hot anymore. Not in Lima and not in New York City, Quinn can’t help but compare. Her former home vs. her new home. It’s autumn— Quinn’s favorite time of year— and she’s already met with Gabriel, her mentor. He’s given her the contact information for the board that’s in charge of her program, and she’s now on the way to her new apartment with the directions they’d given and her keys. Her apartment. In New York City. 

She’s only been here a handful of times before, and two of those times were centered around competition. She has no idea where she’s going, and she wonders if everyone who moves to this city feels this lost when they get here. 

She’s brought virtually nothing with her— her clothes, laptop, cameras. Everything she owns in a rolling suitcase and the leather bag she got in France. Whatever wouldn’t fit stayed in Lima. She walks until her feet are sore, choosing to see the city where she lives instead of taking a cab the entire way here. This neighborhood, though… it doesn’t seem to Quinn like a place where people live. She comes to a stop in front of a shady-looking Chinese place. She double checks the address and then tilts her head at the neon sign that’s shorting out. Lieu’s Chinese Take-Out.

Her apartment must be above Lieu’s Chinese Take-Out.

Fantastic. 

“It has character,” are Rachel’s first words upon entering the space. There’s no denying the fact that it’s an incredibly small space, even with the limited belongings Quinn’s brought with her.

Rachel wanted to meet Quinn at the airport, but she had a test to take, so they’d agreed to meet here. It also gave Quinn a chance to navigate the city alone, a need Rachel fully understands.

“It’s inspiring,” she says. “You’re an artist and this is wh—” She freezes at the sound of rustling. “What was that?” It happens a second time and she’s all but climbing up Quinn’s body.

The rustling turns into a light clicking noise, and then a flash of gray blurring along the floorboards catches Quinn’s eye. 

“Oh my god,” she says and tries to squint in the darkened space, but whatever it is, it’s fast. “I think it’s…” It can’t be. A rat. Though, she supposes it could be a possum or something else, with how big it is.

Technically, this entire space is one room (notwithstanding a tiny alcove in the corner that Quinn assumes is some type of bathroom), and the blur of gray was on the kitchen side. Quinn thinks that it would take maybe ten seconds for it to be on the other side of the apartment, which is where she’s probably expected to sleep. 

She squares her shoulders. Fine. If this is her new place, then she’ll make it work. She’s never backed down from a challenge before, and a fucking New York rat isn’t going to make her start now. 

She crinkles her nose. “It smells like…” She can’t put her finger on exactly what it smells like, but it’s definitely not pleasant.

“I would suggest opening the window, but I think it’s coming from downstairs. Maybe we can buy you one of those incense oil burner from that table out on the stre—” There’s another unidentified sound and now Rachel’s hiding behind Quinn. “Baby, I’m so glad you’re finally here, but I’m scared,” she mumbles against the back of Quinn’s shoulder.

“Yes to the incense,” Quinn says. “And whatever that noise is, it’s inside the walls, I think. I need to find a place that sells rat traps, too. I’m not waking up in the middle of the night with that in my bed,” Quinn nods at the large rodent as it scurries along the opposite wall. Definitely a rat. She realizes in that moment, as Rachel shrieks and claws at her shoulders, trying to get her feet off the ground, that if she ever wants to spend the night with Rachel here in the city, she’ll be getting a cab to NYADA. There’s no way Rachel Berry is sleeping here. She runs a hand through her hair. She’s not one to complain, but she also can’t stop the words, “this is a shit hole,” from coming out of her mouth, either.

As much as Rachel doesn’t want to experience whatever creature it is that’s moving through the walls, she’s even more upset by the thought of Quinn killing anything. She chooses not to think about it and decides to dwell on the positive. “At least you’re here. And we can… have a lot of picnics while the weather’s still decent.”

Quinn notices Rachel’s wince and wraps her arms around her. “Baby, I promise you I won’t kill anything in front of you. And I’ll be as humane as possible, I swear. But I can’t just let rats and god knows what else crawl all over me at night.” She nuzzles Rachel, trying to distract her, and it works until someone starts shouting drunkenly just outside of Quinn’s door. It’s loud, and Rachel shrinks into her. Quinn rubs her hand along Rachel’s back. “It’s okay. There’s a deadbolt and a chain, and I’ll take self-defense classes or something.” She kisses Rachel’s hair. “We can have picnics all the time, and I’ll come see you at school. I’ll be out a lot anyway, working. I’m only just sleeping here, really.” 

She’s not sure which one of them she’s trying to convince. 

After a visit from the exterminator, the rodent problem won’t be the absolute worst. Rachel will still refuse to stay the night, but she’ll at least more comfortable without the sound of tiny claws clicking against the floors. The next point of order is Quinn’s general safety.

“You should get a weapon,” Rachel suggests, the next afternoon, while they’re out getting general supplies for the apartment. “I don’t like the idea of you being unarmed. I mean, I don’t want you to have to hurt anyone. But…” Her grip on Quinn’s hand tightens.

The anxiety in Rachel’s voice and her tightening grip do not go unnoticed. Still, Quinn laughs. “I’m not getting a weapon, Rach. The apartment is…” She wants to say ‘fine,’ but she knows how thin that will sound. “I’ll be okay. I’ll take that self-defense class that I found at the library, and I’ll be fine.”

“Quinn,” it’s not quite a whine, but it’s close. “You don’t have to carry it around. Just… something to keep under your bed, in case of an emergency.” Rachel doesn’t want to point out just how shady Quinn’s neighborhood is, but then this is an important issue. “It just seems like there’s a lot that happens around your building. And you have an iPhone. People steal those all the time. They might try to follow you home.”

Quinn leans into Rachel’s side. “You know, for someone who is so against me killing the rats, you sure are intent on me being able to destroy anyone who wants to swipe my iPhone.” She’s not annoyed. She actually loves it that Rachel cares so much about her safety. “Something sturdy enough to protect me without being super expensive or inherently dangerous to have around…” Quinn wonders what would even fit those criteria, and it’s not until they’re wandering through the Kmart off 8th and Broadway that she has her answer. There’s a whole aisle of baseball bats, different sizes, metal, wood. She looks through them all (because if she’s theoretically supposed to be able to bludgeon someone with it, it needs to be the right one, she figures). Once she finds the perfect bludgeoning instrument— a dark blue metal bat, heavy and sleek— and Rachel approves, she’s in business. 

“Perfect,” Rachel says, holding out her hand so she can feel the weight of it. “Do you know how to use one of these?”

Quinn smirks. “I’m pretty sure you just swing it, baby.”

-

Quinn isn’t the only one invested in self defense, although Rachel’s shooting lessons are really more of an investment in the special skills section of her resume than anything else. She doesn’t plan to carry a gun or even ever shoot at anyone, but after learning she was rather skilled markswoman that day on the paintball range, it’s been in the back of her mind that it’s just another area of expertise to perfect.

When she tells Quinn she’s signed up for the lessons, she isn’t sure how her girlfriend is going to react, so her approach is to casually mention it over lunch in the park and wait for Quinn’s reply.

Quinn finishes chewing her pasta salad and swallows before taking a drink. The entire time, she’s imagining Rachel at a shooting range wearing safety glasses and those big headphone ear protectors. Quinn squints at the sky and then back at her girlfriend. “You’re taking shooting lessons,” she says carefully. It isn’t a question. She’s processing. The way Rachel shoots a paintball gun is nothing short of, well, hot, and if she’s going to learn how to shoot a real gun… Quinn wipes a suddenly sweaty hand on her thigh and then lifts another forkful of pasta to her mouth. “Okay,” she says. 

Rachel smiles, relieved. Not that she was really that concerned about Quinn having an aversion to the news, but then they’ve never really had a conversation about guns or anything, and it kind of falls into the area of politics, which is also a topic they haven’t seriously debated with each other.

“Do you want to come watch my first time?”

Quinn nearly chokes on her pasta salad. The image in her mind fleshes out. Safety glasses, ear protectors. Maybe a ribbed white tank top… Quinn wets her lips and then says, “Is that allowed?” It’s a dumb thing to say, but she’s so taken with the idea of this gun-toting Rachel that she has in her head…

“Of course it is, you just have to remain behind the—” Rachel catches a very familiar glimmer in Quinn’s eye. “You are so turned on, right now.” She’s fascinated, because this certainly isn’t the reaction she expected. 

“Shut up,” Quinn mumbles. “I can’t help it.”

“Baby.” Rachel scoots closer to her on the blanket. It’s still warm enough out for their picnic lunches, but there’s a slight breeze and even if there weren’t she just likes to be close to Quinn. “I just need to know… if you come with me… am I going to need to clear my schedule for a couple hours afterward?”

Quinn flashes a look at her. “Stop it,” she warns. “We’re in public, Rachel, and you can’t use that tone of voice with me right now.” She takes another sip of water. “That should answer your question.” 

Rachel leans over and kisses Quinn’s cheek. “Saturday at eleven-thirty. You can take me to breakfast, first.”

“It’s a date, ‘Licious,” Quinn says. “Breakfast, the shooting range, and one fully cleared schedule after.”

“I have a little time in my schedule now, too,” Rachel says as she slips her arm through Quinn’s. She knows this ‘honeymoon phase’ isn’t supposed to last forever, but she’s quite all right with putting her youthful sex drive to use as much as possible, for now.

“Rachel Berry, are you soliciting me in a public park?” Her fingers naturally seek out smooth, tan skin, which happens to be on Rachel’s arm. She’ll never get tired of touching Rachel, she thinks. 

“There’s less wildlife here than at your apartment.”

“True,” Quinn murmurs, and pulls Rachel in for a kiss. 

-

It’s Quinn’s favorite holiday, and she and Rachel are in Lima to celebrate it. Leroy invited her to come over early and help him prepare Thanksgiving dinner, and of course Quinn said yes. And then Hiram had called into the phone for her to bring her mother and— that was a more delayed yes, and only after Rachel mandated it. So now the two of them, Quinn’s mother, and Rachel’s dads are gathered around the table for Thanksgiving dinner, and Quinn can’t help but reach over and take Rachel’s hand in her own. 

Rachel smiles as Quinn takes her hand. It’s under the table, but she knows it’s not because Quinn’s trying to hide anything. She’s thankful for that and so many other things, this year.

Judy’s across the table from them, which is a huge step. She still refers to Rachel as Quinn’s ‘friend’ but she’s drinking iced tea instead of wine with dinner, even after bringing a bottle to the Berry home as a gift. 

Hiram and Leroy are also foregoing alcohol for the evening, out of respect for Judy (it may have been part of an itemized list emailed to them from Rachel), but that doesn’t keep Leroy from making a toast, “to family, friends, and the future of our daughters.”

A year ago, Quinn wouldn’t have believed that she’d be sitting here now, holding Rachel’s hand, and being welcomed as part of the Berry family. With her own mother here, the only thing that’s missing is Beth, and she knows that she and Rachel are stopping by Shelby’s later, so she’s really the happiest she’s been in a long time. 

Dinner is delicious, and after she and Rachel clean up, they steal a few minutes alone on the Berry’s deck, where they once got locked out for the afternoon and Quinn sang Let’s Get It On to Rachel for the first time. 

It’s November, so it isn’t exactly warm out, which is why Rachel is wrapped in the throw blanket from the living room sofa. She opens her arms up to Quinn. “Get in here, it’s freezing.”

Quinn steps in and feels the blanket fold around her. It’s only officially been a few months since they started dating, but she’s still amazed at how perfectly they fit together. They’re hugging, and then they’re swaying, and then Quinn is humming in Rachel’s ear. 

And then she’s singing.

“I’ve been really trying, baby, trying to hold back this feeling for so long,” Quinn sings softly, smirking against Rachel’s hair. “And if you feel like I feel, baby…” 

Before she knows it, they’re dancing, wrapped in a blanket on the Berry’s deck. Quinn sings the whole song, with Rachel joining in on the chorus, and they keep swaying gently together after it’s over. Finally Quinn kisses her and whispers, “This is the best Thanksgiving I can remember.” 

“Me, too,” Rachel whispers back. “Though, I kind of hope they just get even better from here.” She pulls them even more tightly together. They should go back inside soon, before her dads try to rope Judy into a game of Broadway Charades. But for now, for the moment, she’s perfectly content standing outside, on the deck, in a blanket, with Quinn.

-

It’s Rachel’s first Hanukkah without her dads. It’s Quinn’s first Hanukkah, ever.

The Berry family has never been fundamentally religious, but they do observe both the Jewish and Christian major holidays. It’s usually Rachel who insists they follow the standard formalities, because she’s always one to enjoy anything that involves ritual and any form of pageantry.

Perhaps the email detailing The History of Chanukah and the handwritten flashcards she made for her girlfriend weren’t necessary, but if Quinn’s at all put off by Rachel’s zealousness when it comes to teaching her about the holiday, she isn’t showing it.

It might have something to do with the eight days of gift giving.

By the final night, Quinn’s a pro at lighting the menorah and Rachel’s itching to give Quinn her present. It being the last night means it’s the biggest gift she has to give, all the others were simple things like Quinn’s favorite Jolly Ranchers or that IKEA nightlight shaped kind of like a Pokemon.

They’re in Quinn’s apartment, because it’s been rat-free for a while and Rachel’s feeling better about occupying the space as long as Quinn and Fluffy (the baseball bat) are with her. She picks up the large Duane Reade bag that’s been sitting in the corner ever since she arrived and reaches inside to pull out a simply wrapped gift box. Well, simply wrapped with a lightly bedazzled ribbon wrapped around it. She sets the box on Quinn’s lap.

“Happy Hanukkah,” she says and fidgets as she waits for Quinn to open it.

Quinn trails her fingers along the ribbon. “You bedazzled this,” she murmurs. There are things that Rachel says and does that make her fall a little more in love every day. She slides the ribbon off and opens the box. Inside is a sturdy brown leather case, and Quinn pulls it out and crooks an eyebrow. “What…” She’s going to ask what’s in it, but then she has it open and she can see for herself that Rachel has filled it with 35mm film. There’s also— “Is this a lens for my camera?” It’s in a canvas drawstring cover, and Quinn pulls it out. It’s a zoom lens, and Quinn is honestly shocked, considering Rachel doesn’t know anything about cameras. “How did you even know which one to get?”

“I took a picture of your Pentax and went to a place so I could ask them.” Rachel leans against Quinn’s shoulder. “Is it the right one?”

“Rach… it’s perfect. Thank you.” Quinn pulls Rachel close and kisses her softly before reaching down beside the bed and lifting up a small gift bag. She grins. “Happy Hanukkah, ‘Lic.”

Rachel happily accepts the bag, evaluating its weight as she hold it in her hands. “I don’t think this is the puppy I asked for,” she says, grinning at Quinn as she sets the bag on her lap and carefully opens it. 

Inside is an ornate wooden box with a brass latch. Her first thought is jewelry, but then she isn’t sure, because it could be anything. She isn’t really expecting anything too extravagant, because her birthday is in two days and then Christmas isn’t too far behind. The latch slides open and Rachel lifts the lid to find what looks almost like a pocket watch, but the chain is too long. She opens the cover and realizes it’s an antique compass. It’s something of a joke between them that Rachel has a habit of getting… not lost… but turned around when she’s walking around the city. Sure, she can tell you which subway train to take without even consulting a map, but maybe it’s the ever present head-in-the-clouds dreamer in her that prevents her from getting a grounded grasp on which direction she’s going when she’s walking around.

As she lifts the compass out of the box, she flips it over to see an inscription on the back that reads, ‘So you can always find your way home. Love, Quinn.’

In that moment, it stops being a novelty and suddenly becomes one of the sweetest gifts she’s ever received.

“I was going to yell at you for making fun of me, but…” Rachel gently places the compass back in the box and presses a kiss to Quinn’s lips. “I love you for watching out for me like this.”

“I will always watch out for you,” Quinn promises and then kisses her again in a way that makes her wish they weren’t in Quinn’s apartment. When she pulls away, she nuzzles into Rachel’s neck and murmurs, “I know you don’t like sleeping here, but I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’d make an exception tonight?”

“Do you solemnly swear to protect me from anything that creeps or crawls?” Rachel asks. “And to take me out to breakfast tomorrow?” She was already planning to staying the night, anyway, but there’s no harm in gaining an advantage. Though, she feels like she should probably fess up. “I brought clothes for tomorrow in my backpack. I might have forgotten my pajamas, though.”

Quinn sees an opening and takes it by kissing open-mouthed up Rachel’s neck. “Maybe I don’t want you in pajamas.” 

-

For Rachel’s birthday, Quinn gives her a box full of sheet music. No one wears pajamas on that night, either.

-

Christmas is in spent in Lima, but before they left New York, Rachel made it a point to see all the major holiday sights like the tree in Rockefeller center and the Macy’s window displays. She’s glad to see the familiar sight of her neighborhood decorated in holiday lights, though. As much as she loves her new life in the city, there’s something calming about being back in the slow, quiet pace of Lima. Maybe it’s because she knows she’s only visiting.

They’re in Quinn’s car, about three blocks from the Fabray house, because Rachel insisted on seeing what the houses looked like, decorated for the holidays. She finds herself looking up at the sky more than the homes themselves. Even with all the light from the street, she can see a lot more stars than she ever does in New York. After squinting at them for a moment, she turns to Quinn. “Which one do you think is the North Star?”

Quinn squeezes Rachel’s hand. “Do you have your compass, ‘Licious?” 

“It’s in my bag, back at the house.” Rachel wrinkles up her nose as she reaches for the hot cocoa that sits in the cup holder. “I guess that kind of defeats the purpose of having it, huh?”

“Well, when you’re with me, you don’t really need it,” Quinn says. 

“You do have a freakishly accurate sense of direction. If I want to impress you, though, I should probably be more diligent.”

Quinn gives her a look. “Do you really not know that you impress me every single day? The way you sing, how happy you are when you’re working, your ability to make friends…” She bites her lip. “I probably don’t say this enough, but… I feel like the luckiest girl in the world, being with you.”

“Yeah, but I can’t find my way out of Central Park without a Google Map,” Rachel replies. She looks down at her cocoa, then back up at Quinn. “You’ve gotten pretty good about being clear on your feelings for me. Still like hearing it, though.”

It’s quiet for a few moments, save for the low volume of the Lima Top 40 station’s Christmas hits playing on the car stereo. Rachel loves the energy of the city this time of year, but she also loves this, too. It may have something to do with the company she keeps.

-

On New Year’s Eve, they have their first actual fight since they’ve been dating.

Rachel’s wearing the dress she bought on a trip with Kurt, just for tonight. There’s a party up on the Flynn rooftop and Rachel’s on the planning committee. Actually, she is the planning committee. It’s just after seven and everyone’s supposed to arrive at eight, which means they’ll probably show up by nine. Still, she’s ready with a cooler full of sodas and spread of finger foods.

Quinn’s on the phone and Rachel isn’t exactly sure who she’s talking to, but the way Quinn keeps glancing at her is making her nervous.

By the time Quinn hangs up with Gabriel, she knows that Rachel is watching her. She slides her iPhone into her bag and wraps her arms around Rachel from behind, resting her chin on Rachel’s shoulder. “That was Gabriel,” she says. “He wants to do a shoot tonight in Times Square.” She buries her face in Rachel’s neck. “I’m so sorry. I’ll be back as soon as I can, Rach.”

Rachel can’t believe what she’s hearing. She leans back to actually look at her girlfriend. “Quinn, that’s insane. There’s no way for you to even get close enough to anything, by now. People have been camping out to hold their spots. He can’t just expect you to drop everything.”

“Rachel, he’s my boss. I can’t just not go. This opportunity— I wouldn’t even be here.”

“Did you even say anything about already having plans?”

Quinn stares at her. “Are you seriously accusing me of trying to get out of being here tonight? Rachel, it’s New Year’s Eve.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” Rachel says, frowning as she takes a step back. 

Quinn folds her arms across her chest. “I’m sorry, okay? I don’t want to go be in Times Square without you tonight. It’s our first New Year’s Eve together.” This is really unbelievable. “I can’t believe this,” she mutters. 

“I’m well aware that it’s our first New Year’s Eve together. I’m hosting a party because I wanted to make sure everything went right.” Rachel shakes her head. It shouldn’t be a big deal, really, because Quinn’s right, he is her boss and this is why she’s even here. But it’s a last minute demand on a holiday and Rachel’s firmly convinced it all could have been avoided. “You could have just not answered when he called.”

Quinn laughs, but it’s not a happy sound. “Rachel, seriously? You want me to start screening my mentor’s calls? It’s not like I work a nine to five job. If there’s a shoot somewhere, I have to be there.” She doesn’t think about the next thing she says, but she should because it’s, “It’s not like this is even about you.”

“It’s one night, Quinn.” Rachel pulls her coat more tightly around herself, because it’s cold up on the roof, but also because she suddenly feels very alone. “If you wanted to stay, you would have thought of something to tell him. You’re not exactly the kind of person who lets herself get talked into things she doesn’t want to do. But you’re right, it’s even not about me.”

“Oh my god. You are accusing me of trying to get out of being here tonight.” This conversation started out with Quinn feeling bad that she was bailing on Rachel, but now she’s just pissed. “You’re saying that you want me to lie to Gabriel?” She looks up at the sky, and her breath comes out in a puff of steam. “That can’t honestly be what you’re suggesting. Even you’re not that selfish.” 

Rachel’s upset, but she’s too angry to cry. “I didn’t say that.” Her arms are crossed in front of her and her mouth is pressed into a firm line. “Excuse me, I have to finish putting out the crudites.”

The noise that comes up Quinn’s throat is somewhere between anger and frustration. “You know what? Fuck your crudites.” 

Quinn spins on her heel and stalks to the stairs, her eyes blurring with tears. 

There’s no response that Rachel can muster up in time, so she just watches Quinn disappear down the stairwell and, in a moment of surged anger, she violently flings a carrot stick in the direction of the stairs. Or, she tries, but it veers to the right and sails over the edge of the rooftop.

It’s a good thing no one actually showed up to help with the set-up, because she needs a few minutes alone to cry. She only gives herself five, though, then forces herself to carry on with the party prep. She’s Rachel Berry and this is her first New York New Year’s Eve, with or without Quinn by her side. She’ll be fine if no one asks too many questions.

Quinn spends her first New Year’s Eve in the city in Times Square taking shots of the crowd, and she’s miserable the entire time. All she wanted was to kiss her girlfriend at midnight, and now she’s missed it. By the time she gets back, she’s frozen and grouchy and not at all looking forward to the mood that Rachel is sure to be in. She can only hope that the party was a success and that Rachel has had a good evening, at least. She climbs the stairs and pushes the door open. 

Rachel is sitting, alone, wrapped in her comforter, with her back to the door. 

“Hey,” Quinn says softly. “Where is everyone?”

“They all left before ten-thirty,” Rachel replies, not bothering to look up. “Better parties to get to, I guess. Even Kurt went some all-night dance thing with some of his other friends.”

“Oh, Rach,” Quinn says, and then she’s sitting next to her on the bench. It doesn’t escape Quinn that the crudites are untouched. She wraps her arms around Rachel and pulls her close. “I’m so sorry.”

All of the anger Rachel’s been harboring since their fight dissolves into Quinn’s embrace. She’s been sitting up here most of the night (except for the time she spent changing into her flannel polar bear pajamas), feeling sorry for herself, thinking of all the things she was going to say when Quinn finally returned. But now she’s too tired and cried out to be angry.

“I just wanted you to be here,” Rachel says, quietly.

“I know, Rach. I wanted to be. Is it… too late to get a New Year’s kiss?”

Rachel’s fingers graze Quinn’s cheek. “You’re freezing,” she mutters, shifting her position so she can wrap Quinn in the blanket with her. “You can kiss me, if you promise that next year, we’ll do it right.”

She lets Rachel wrap her up. “I wanted to do it right this year. It was miserable being in that crowd without you.” When they finally kiss, it warms Quinn all the way down. 

-

Rachel’s standing outside of Quinn’s apartment, wishing she’d thought to change after she got there instead of walking over dressed in the outfit she’s picked out, especially for today. Even with her coat wrapped around her, the headband and knee socks are clearly visible and she’s certain she hasn’t been leered at in the whole time she’s been in New York as much as she has been in the last twenty minutes.

When Quinn opens the door, Rachel looks like she’s about to fold in on herself. The guy from 4b (who always smells like pot) is lounging in the hallway like usual, leering at her. Quinn rolls her eyes and pulls her inside. 

“Hi,” she says. “Sorry about my ‘neighbors.’ Are you okay?”

“Uh huh,” Rachel nods. She’s staring at Quinn, because she’s looking at a version of her she hasn’t seen in a long time. The only thing missing is the perfect Cheerios ponytail, because Quinn’s hair is still much shorter than it ever was during her time on the squad. But other than that, Rachel’s presented with the sight Head Cheerio Quinn, and she can’t seem to get her mouth to form full and complete words.

Quinn sees Rachel’s reaction and smirks. “So, we’re really doing this? How, um, how real do you want this to be?”

When the suggestion originally came up, Rachel wasn’t really thinking beyond the what it would be like to feel up Quinn in her old uniform. But then there was an incredibly specific email about Rachel’s knee socks, and it’s become a revisited fantasy discussion to combine the two together. There is, however, with that, a particular role-play aspect that comes along with it, even if they would just be portraying themselves.

She sheds her coat and places it on one of the hooks next to the door, giving Quinn a full view of her yellow and black plaid skirt along with her coordinating giraffe sweater. “This is really more of an aesthetic fantasy than anything. But… do you think we need a safe word?”

Other than an eyebrow lifting, Quinn doesn’t react to Rachel’s question until she thinks about it. She finally says, “I’m not into hurting you. If you want me to… be harsh like I used to be, I can try, but…” When it’s all said and done, she really doesn’t want to rehash that part of their relationship. If it’s something that Rachel wants, then she’ll find a way to give it to her, but she’s drawing the line at physically hurting her. “If you think we need one, it’s up to you.” She gives herself permission to finally take in what Rachel’s wearing and she has to close her eyes for a second. “I just want you,” she finally says. 

“I…” Rachel places her hands on Quinn’s shoulders, “just want to know what you wear under that skirt.” She certainly doesn’t want Quinn to be uncomfortable and Rachel isn’t sure she has any interest in being berated, but there’s something about Quinn’s cheer captain confidence that certainly appeals to her. “Ferris wheel. If it’s too much for either of us, okay?” Rachel has absolutely zero experience with any type of sexual roleplay, but she’s read about it and knows that being communicative up front if the best approach. “You don’t have to be mean, just… I like it when you tell me what to do. Or… not to do.”

Quinn hums her approval and looks into Rachel’s eyes for what must be a full minute. The love and trust she sees reflected there nearly breaks her on the spot, and she thinks again that she must be the luckiest girl alive for Rachel to look at her like that. Rachel has always been so open and optimistic, always choosing to see the good in people. Quinn is walking proof of that. 

She looks into those eyes long enough to see exactly what she needs to see, and then there’s an almost imperceptible straightening of her spine and a coolness that falls naturally over her face. She’s worked very hard the past few months to keep her shields down, but now she reaches back into her mind, all the way back to the person she was before she was pregnant and she pulls her forward to the surface. It’s almost too easy for Quinn’s comfort to look down at Rachel with that hardness on her face. 

“You want to be told what to do, Rachel?” She says in a calculated, almost detached tone. “You can start by taking your hands off of me.” She leans forward, so they’re almost nose to nose. They’re almost the same height, but when Quinn is like this, she feels like she’s towering over her girlfriend. “Look at me. Do I look like the type of girl you can just touch whenever you want? I’m not. And you—” She takes a step forward, forcing Rachel to step back. “You don’t get to lay a finger on me tonight unless I tell you to.” She lifts an eyebrow and resists the urge to inspect her fingernails. She figures there’s such a thing as too much. “Am I making myself perfectly clear?”

“P-perfectly, yes.” Rachel’s hands grip the sides of her skirt, because she doesn’t know what else to do with them. This is definitely what she wanted, but it’s also a sudden shift and even with the arguments they may have had while they’ve been together, Quinn hasn’t spoken to her like this in years. The fact that it’s already making her aroused is probably cause for some later reflection, given the nature of their interaction, back when this was the Quinn she encountered on a daily basis. But like she just said, it’s not cruelty that attracts her, it’s the control. “What…” she adjusts her headband, because Quinn’s glare is making her feel like she’s on display, “would you like to do?”

Quinn tries to remember how she used to laugh, back when she was miserable all of the time. “Is this what you want, Rachel?” Quinn asks in a low voice in Rachel’s ear. “For me to tell you what to do and then tell you what a good girl you are for doing it? That isn’t the way this works.” Quinn takes another step forward. She’s backing Rachel toward the wall one step at a time, and she would be lying if she said that the way Rachel is stammering and gripping her skirt wasn’t working for her, just a little bit. Another step. She feels like she’s stalking Rachel, at this point. One more step, and Rachel’s against the wall. Quinn’s grin is predatory. “You have to earn it tonight.”

Rachel presses her palms against the wall behind her, because she isn’t supposed to touch. They just started and it’s already incredibly tempting just to reach up and grip the front of Quinn’s uniform. But she’s supposed to listen and follow direction, something she prides herself on, professionally. This is harder than any role she’s taken on, though, even if she’s playing Rachel Berry, circa 2009.

“Okay.”

Rachel’s subservience affects Quinn far more than she thought it would and she buries her face in Rachel’s neck. “Do you have any idea what it’s doing to me to see you like this?” 

She presses her body against Rachel’s so she can feel her everywhere, and then those legs are in Quinn’s mind, and suddenly she’s desperate to feel them around her. “Take your underwear off. Right now.”

Quinn has her pinned against the wall so all Rachel can really do is reach under her own skirt and push her panties down. They end still around one ankle, but she would have to move to shake them free and she has a feeling that’s not allowed, right now.

She hasn’t been told to keep quiet, though. “I think that if you have any specific plans for what you’d like to do with me, it’s at least common courtesy to keep me informed.”

“That’s your problem, Rachel.” Quinn runs a hand down Rachel’s side, bunches her skirt up, and digs her nails into her thigh. “You always have to have something to say. You want to be informed?” She drops her voice even lower. “I’m going to lay down, and I want…” Quinn bites Rachel’s neck. “To feel your thighs around my head. Go get on the bed. On your knees.”

The knees in question begin to buckle at the suggestion and Rachel instinctively grabs Quinn’s arm for support. As soon as Rachel realizes she’s touching Quinn without permission, she lets go and mumbles, “Sorry,” before quickly moving to the bed.

Quinn is no stranger to control. She led an entire cheerleading squad out of the woods during Survival Week and then to a national title. Twice. She called the shots in every relationship before Rachel, and now, with Rachel kneeling on Quinn’s bed in a very specifically designed outfit, she’s calling them again. 

And she’s never felt as lost as she does right now. 

She’s not sure whether to lock herself in the bathroom and wait it out or to forge ahead with the scenario or just to call it off altogether. Rachel looks amazing, and she loves that they’re attempting to give this to each other, but what if… Maybe they’re just not that couple. 

But then again… 

Quinn settles on the bed beside Rachel and then lays back, keeping her eyes locked on Rachel’s face. Without another word, she reaches for Rachel’s hip and tugs, indicating for Rachel to straddle Quinn’s stomach. She runs her hands over the short, plaid skirt and bites a lip. “Is this… okay with you?” she almost-whispers. 

The break in ‘character’ has Rachel leaning down with her hands pressed into the mattress on either side of Quinn’s head. “I’m absolutely fine, baby,” she says, just as quietly. Quinn looks concerned, like she’s afraid she’ll say the wrong thing, which is ironic, given the dynamic that was in play only seconds ago. “But we can just do this without… any assigned roles if it’s making you uncomfortable.”

“No,” Quinn says, slipping back into her old self again. “Kiss me.”

It’s a direct order and Rachel is quick to follow it. Her hands remain pushed into the comforter (the one she helped Quinn pick out) because otherwise, they’ll wander and now that Quinn’s back in the game, touching her isn’t allowed.

The kiss, however, is fair game and Rachel can’t help but assert herself by being aggressive with it.

Quinn gets caught up in the kiss and lets Rachel kiss her until they’re both breathless. She finally pushes Rachel back and tug upwards, urging her forward. 

This is a new position for them and up until a few minutes ago, Rachel had no idea it was something Quinn wanted to try. It’s definitely not that Quinn is shy about mentioning things she wants, but giving her this kind of control seems to make her even communicate even more clearly.

Rachel grips the metal frame at the head of the bed, again, trying to follow the established protocol as best she can.

With the way Rachel is sitting, Quinn can’t speak, and her communication has been relegated to moaning and twisting Rachel’s skirt into her fists. Her thighs are exactly where Quinn wants them, and the rest of her… well. Quinn urges her on and keeps her eyes open, watching everything she can. The skirt is heavy and scratchy, and it’s covering most of Quinn’s face in the best way. The sight above her is exactly everything she’s wanted since she and Rachel have started talking about this. 

“Please,” is all Rachel says. She assumes it’s an acceptable thing to say and given the way Quinn’s pulling on her skirt, she must be correct. 

Quinn’s hands are working against Rachel’s hips, trying to get her to move against Quinn’s mouth. She remembers the noise that Rachel makes when Quinn uses her tongue a certain way, and she does her best to draw it out. 

It’s a good thing Rachel already has her grasp on the bed frame, because she needs it to keep herself steady. She’s wondering why they never tried this before. “Quinn,” she whimpers, doing her best to stay still since Quinn’s, well, underneath her.

Quinn groans and digs her fingers in harder. She wants to say Rachel’s name. She wants so many things right now. She’s nearly overwhelmed with what she’s feeling. She tries something new— something to do with pressure or rhythm or movement, but she’s not even sure what it is.

“Oh,” Rachel’s head falls forward and she’s looking down at Quinn. She can’t help the way her hips are now moving in reaction to the pace Quinn has set with her tongue. “Oh, god.” They didn’t really set any major ground rules for this, so she has no idea if she’s just allowed to let herself go or if she’s supposed to wait for permission and she can’t really find the words to ask any of the questions that are coming to mind, even though anything coherent is few and far between because whatever’s happening under her skirt is making her eyes roll back.

Quinn doubles her efforts, pushes against Rachel as much as she can and focuses everything she has on the task at hand. 

Whether or not she’s supposed to get off this quickly, Rachel can tell she’s about to and there isn’t even a chance for her to say anything before her legs are shaking. She shifts her body weight, trying not to collapse onto Quinn, and instead knocks the headboard against the wall.

Quinn holds Rachel to her for as long as she can and takes whatever Rachel is willing to give until she just can’t anymore. Everything about this— how Rachel wanted her in control, how she moved against Quinn’s mouth, how she couldn’t not come from what was happening between them… 

She’s an athlete. She’s thrown girls her own size into the air during Cheerios routines. She supports Rachel’s weight until she’s able to focus again.

Rachel doesn’t care if she’s given permission, she moves sideways and slumps next to Quinn, her arm draped over her eyes. Her chest still heaves as she tries to catch her breath after such a sudden and intense climax.

Something has been ignited deep within Quinn, and she’s over Rachel in a flash, smirking and pinning her down. She can’t get the image of what just happened out of her mind. The skirt, the way Rachel moved… the way she looked. 

Quinn is still in charge and she needs it now more than ever. She pulls Rachel’s’ arm away. “If you think you’re done, after that…” She lifts an eyebrow and then adds. “Kiss me.” It comes out in a growl.

Despite the fact that she’s still feeling the residual effects of her orgasm, there’s a tug of arousal low in Rachel’s gut when Quinn speaks. She pushes herself onto her elbow so she can kiss Quinn and she can taste herself all over Quinn’s mouth. It’s instinct for her to grip the front of Quinn’s top and she’s doing it before she has a chance to stop herself. 

It’s one of the hardest things she’s ever done, pulling away from Rachel, but this is part of the fantasy. She pushes Rachel gently back against the bed, but her eyes are flashing. “I gave you one instruction, and you couldn’t follow it.” She has Rachel’s arms pinned above her head. “Are we going to have a problem?” She knows that she won’t actually hurt Rachel, but there’s no harm in lacing her voice with the implied threat. “I expect an answer,” she adds, just to make sure she’s being clear.

“No. There’s no problem,” Rachel says. Her body doesn’t seem to be paying attention, though, because she arches up against Quinn. She isn’t used to not being able to touch her girlfriend and Quinn’s bare thighs against her own are just making her want to even more.

Quinn fights to keep her eyes open. Closing them now would look weak and she’s just starting to get into her role. If she weren’t painfully turned on, it would be funny to her how far she’s come— she’s basically playing her younger self and struggling with authenticity.

She shifts so she can grind against Rachel’s bare thigh. Rachel’s hands are still pinned, and the way she’s breathing is driving Quinn crazy. 

“You want me so much that you can’t even fucking lie still,” she breathes into Rachel’s ear, grinding down. “That makes you…” Quinn bites, maybe harder than she should. It’s far too easy to get carried away. “Bad.”

Rachel cries out at the sharp feeling of Quinn’s teeth, because it’s unexpected. There’s a second of pain, but Rachel knows Quinn didn’t do it to hurt her. But it also drives her to be a little less cooperative. “I’m not,” she rocks upward again, letting her leg slip between Quinn’s and she can feel the split pleats of the cheerleading skirt brush against her thigh, “bad.” 

The feeling does make Quinn’s eyes drift shut this time. She pushes up and crawls over Rachel’s body, straddling her stomach. She sits up straight and stares down, reaching for Rachel’s hands. “If you’re not bad,” she tells her, placing Rachel’s hands on her stomach over her Cheerios uniform, “then you won’t have any trouble keeping your hands where they belong.” She leans down and closes her mouth over Rachel’s neck once again. 

“Maybe,” Rachel groans, “you need to be more explicit in your instructions,” though she keeps her hands where Quinn has put them.

Quinn sucks on Rachel’s skin and says, “I thought that was incredibly explicit.” She’s still so turned on and she can’t help but move her hips in the smallest circle against Rachel’s stomach. “I just wonder how long you can be good when I’m doing this,” she mumbles. 

Rachel’s sweater has been hiked up, leaving her midriff bare in all the movement, and the more Quinn moves against her, the more she can tell Quinn’s beyond turned on, even through the spanks she’s wearing. “Do you want me to be good?”

Quinn bites again. “Maybe I’m just setting you up for failure.”

Well, now Rachel’s just curious, so she lets one hand slide upward and roughly grasps Quinn’s breast over the WMHS logo.

Quinn reaches down and swats Rachel on the upper thigh. Not enough to bruise, but enough to sting, certainly. 

It’s enough to make Rachel grunt in response, but she was expecting some kind of reaction from Quinn, so it doesn’t surprise her the same way that first bite did. “I’m not quite sure how you can expect me to be ‘good’ if you don’t define what that is, Quinn,” she says, cocking her head slightly as she looks up at her. If Quinn’s tone has been direct and demanding, Rachel’s is defiant.

“Well,” Quinn says, “I’ve already told you to keep your hands off me, and here you are, feeling me up.” She grinds down again. “Doesn’t sound like you’re being a very good girl to me.” She nuzzles into Rachel’s ear. “Tell me what you want.”

“You put my hands on you!” Rachel can’t help but squeal in response. It’s completely out of character and she squirms under Quinn as she refocuses. “When I got here, I told you I wanted to know what was under your skirt.”

Quinn pulls back and levels her with a look. “How many times have we fucked, Rachel? A hundred? And you’re still wondering what’s under my skirt?” 

It’s the specific use of the profanity that has Rachel stammering, again. “I-I meant this one, specifically. I’ve never… we haven’t…”

This is what Quinn is looking for, right here. This level of need within Rachel. “Specifically. Say it.” 

Rachel isn’t sure which thing she’s supposed to specify, but there’s something at the forefront of her mind. “I’ve never fucked you in your uniform before,” she finally says, as firmly as she can, though it’s difficult with the way her voice wants to give out.

Quinn breathes into her ear, a long, hot exhale. “Do you want to? Do you want to fuck a cheerleader, Rachel?” She can’t keep her mouth off of Rachel’s neck. Her voice is deeper than it’s ever been when she finally says, “Can you handle it?”

Rachel nods her way through all three of Quinn’s questions. “God, yes.” Quinn’s voice is actually making her tremble because Rachel’s never heard it quite like this, before. “Let me?” she finally asks. “Please?”

“Mmm, I like that. You begging. You have no idea how hot that is.” It’s taking everything she has not to just grind herself down. “Tell me, Rach. Did you ever see me in this uniform at school and just…” She lets her voice trail off as she lifts an eyebrow. “Did you ever think about us, then?” She doesn’t know how not to add, “I didn’t even know then how much I wanted you…”

“I’ve always been open to the idea of being attracted to a woman, but I had no idea…” Rachel shakes her head, though that seems counterproductive to what they’re doing. “I did, however, once have a very confusing erotic dream about you.”

Quinn groans. “I think you should tell me about that.”

“You really expect me to remember a dream I had three years ago?”

It’s enough to snap Quinn out of her stupor. She looks at Rachel blankly for a minute. “You had a black sweater with a white dog on it. A black and gold plaid skirt. A bright blue sweater with a matching headband.” It feels to Quinn like her old self is gone, at least in this moment. Her voice is quiet when she continues, “You had these little pink picture frames in your locker and… a binder covered in flowers. I remember.”

Rachel pushes herself up so she’s resting on her elbows. “I picked that skirt out as part of my core wardrobe for that semester.” She has no trouble recalling the dream, because it’s still sitting on her bedroom shelf in Lima, written in the pages of her 2010 dream journal. “It was after you weren’t on the squad, anymore. But in my dream, you were still captain. You wanted me to give up my solos in exchange for a new mascot uniform and a popcorn machine.” At Quinn’s raised eyebrow, Rachel shrugs. “I have no idea. But that somehow led to us making out in the home ec room and you… you asked me if I knew how to… well, give myself an orgasm.”

She wouldn’t have thought it were possible, but Quinn feels herself get even wetter. “And… what did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything.” Rachel casually slides her fingers along the edges of the cheerleading skirt. “I just showed you.”

“Oh my god.” She can’t help it— she’s grinding again. “Rach… I need you.”

Their game, for the moment, seems like it’s over, because Rachel’s gripping Quinn’s hips and flipping them over. Her hands are pulling at anything and everything that’s underneath the Cheerio skirt and then she’s throwing the undergarments over her shoulder. It’s her turn to lean down over her girlfriend and latch her mouth onto an open span of skin, sucking until she leaves a red mark on Quinn’s neck. 

She no longer has any coherent thoughts. She can feel Rachel above her, and all she wants is more. She’s moving like it’s all up to her, what happens next, instead of her being completely at Rachel’s mercy. When Rachel latches onto her skin, she grips at the back of Rachel’s head and gasps. 

“I dreamed about you once, too,” she confesses in a hushed voice. “I was making out with Sam and then he just wasn’t there anymore. It was— it was you, touching me, kissing me, and then… I woke up.” She grips tighter to Rachel’s body. “I’d never come so hard before in my life.”

“How come you never mentioned that before?” Rachel’s hand disappears between the red and white strips of fabric and she’s then dragging her fingers through the incredibly apparent evidence of Quinn’s arousal.

“It never came up,” Quinn says and then Rachel’s fingers are just… “Oh my god.” 

“Is this okay?” Rachel asks, “I wouldn’t want to be bad.”

“Fuck, yes. Just… don’t stop.”

Now that Rachel’s on top, literally, she decides it’s a good time to have a little fun. “Tell me you like my sweater.”

Quinn’s eyes roll back. “Jesus, Rachel. You look… oh god… you look so fucking sexy.”

“Tell me how much you want this,” Rachel says, stilling her fingers. As much as she likes Quinn being in control, she also likes hearing that slight whine in Quinn’s voice when she’s desperate.

Quinn grits her teeth and glares up at Rachel. “Don’t you fucking dare.” She twists her fingers in Rachel’s sweater and pulls. “Fuck me. Now.”

Not quite the same tone as she intended to evoke, but Rachel likes this just as much, maybe even more. She’s quick to give Quinn what she wants, setting a direct and steady pace, her breath against Quinn’s ear when she leans down to ask, “How’s this?”

Quinn’s response is to half-whine, half-growl the word “Harder.” Her hips rise up to meet Rachel’s hand and she adds, “You— you wanted to fuck a cheerleader… fuck… don’t be— god, Rachel, don’t be gentle. This is your chance to— give it to me.” Her breath is coming out in pants, and she has to focus intensely to get the words out. When she finally does, she also manages to wrap a leg around Rachel’s hip so she can start meeting Rachel’s thrusts with squeezes of her own.

Rachel can tell her headband is crooked and she’s starting to get way too warm in her sweater, but none of that is going to distract her from meeting Quinn’s movement’s, stroke for stroke. As great as Quinn looks in it, the uniform is irrelevant at this point, because what’s working for Rachel are things like the way Quinn keeps forcing her eyes open or the way she pants every time Rachel pushes into her.

This isn’t one of those candlelight and soft music kind of nights (it’s not even night) where they take hours to pay attention to each other. This is raw and base and they’re hardly even undressed at all. It’s need and want and Rachel loves seeing Quinn like this, reduced to something primal and barely able to communicate with anything but her body. They both spend so much time talking and choosing their words, which is great for their communication level, but sometimes they both need to let go and just be together.

Like now.

When Quinn finally comes, she feels like something inside of her is splitting her up the middle and escaping in the most frantic cry. She closes her eyes and the next thing she knows, Rachel is lying against her, stroking her hair and nuzzling into her.

She tries to speak, to tell Rachel that she’s fine, but what comes out is little more than a groan.

Rachel’s been in love with Quinn for a while, and seeing her so disheveled and sated while wearing this uniform makes her realize that their timing was just right. There was no way this would have worked if they’d tried this when they were younger. It may have only been a couple years ago, but so much changed for both of them over that time.

As Quinn seems to regain her bearings, Rachel kisses her cheek and says, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

-

Their first St. Patrick’s Day in the New York leaves them passed out on Rachel’s twin bed after too much Guinness (four and a half for Quinn, two and a half for Rachel) and both of them spend the next day hungover together. Rachel swears she’s never drinking, again, and Quinn makes ramen noodles in the dorm room microwave.

By the time they make their way through seven episodes of 30 Rock on Netflix, they’ve both managed to shake their headaches and decide to get dressed so they can get smoothies. Rachel insists they need a vitamin recharge. Quinn’s just happy to get out of the room for a while.

-

Passover is a big deal. Not only is it Quinn’s first, but Beth and Shelby are also joining them. Rachel hadn’t been sure how to break the suggestion to her fathers, but in the end the Berry men are always willing to host new and old friends for holiday events.

It’s Rachel who has to deal with the personal issues she has with her biological parent, not anyone else. As much as she’s come to terms with everything, she’s still a little on edge as she sets the table for dinner. Quinn’s already there and she’s been supportive through all of this, but that’s also an added pressure, because Rachel really doesn’t want to say anything rude or inappropriate while Beth is present.

She’s talked to Shelby a few times, once when she went over with Quinn around Christmas and finally met Beth, face to face. Puck was there, too, so there was enough conversation happening to serve as a distraction. It was the same with Beth’s birthday party, a few weeks ago.

Then there was the phone call, when Rachel invited her over for this very event. It was pleasant, as her conversations with Shelby have always been. That’s what makes this weird, really. Shelby’s never been outright cruel to her, she’s never been mean, she’s just been somewhat indifferent. But then, Rachel isn’t even sure if her anger comes from that or from the way she kept Quinn from Beth for so long.

But now, she’s trying. Quinn is family to her, which means Beth is family, and Shelby is part of Beth’s life.

Rachel can do this.

She hopes.

It’s a quiet enough evening, and Quinn keeps an eye on the Shelby/Rachel dynamic while she plays with her daughter. The camera is out all night, and she takes as many shots as she can because she never wants to forget a single moment, with everyone together like this. There’s one of Rachel and her dads that Quinn is particularly proud of. 

She’s lucky— she’s gotten to share a lot of firsts with Beth this past year, including a lot of holidays and, finally, Beth’s birthday. She turned three, and Quinn got to help her pull the paper off her gifts. She filled her memory card that evening, too. 

She can tell, even with her focus on her daughter, that Shelby’s focus is on Rachel. Quinn doesn’t know whether to be proud or protective, so she decides to wait and watch and spend time with Beth. 

It’s sometime after dinner that Shelby finally corners Rachel and tells her, “I just wanted to thank you for inviting us tonight, Rachel. You and your dads have been wonderful, and I know this means a lot to Quinn. So, thank you.” It isn’t as familiar as it should be, but it’s not uncomfortable, either. It’s just… Shelby making an effort. 

“I appreciate that you accepted the invitation.” Rachel’s spent a lot of the evening wondering what it would have been like to have Shelby present at previous Passovers, if she’d grown up with Shelby in her life the way Quinn is in Beth’s. She can’t really picture it. “Given that Beth is half-Jewish, I think it’s important for her to have exposure to these holidays.” Rachel realizes she really has no say in what is and isn’t important for someone else’s daughter, so she adds. “I mean, that’s just personally how I feel given my experience.”

Shelby smiles at her, and it’s almost a shock that it feels as natural as it does, given their past. “Obviously I feel the same way or we wouldn’t be here tonight.” She adds, even though she’s sure it’s not necessary, “We all want what’s best for her and that makes her a very lucky little girl.”

“She is.” Rachel hesitates before saying the next thing, because it hits very close to home, not just for her but for the both of them. “I know Quinn really appreciates the opportunity to spend time with her. She just wants to be—” A good mom. “—involved.”

Shelby glances at them. They’re on the couch, Beth in Quinn’s lap, and Quinn is letting her touch the camera. “Beth has really taken to her. And Quinn…” Shelby says. “They’re good for each other.”

“Of course she’s taken to her, she’s—” Rachel stops herself and resigns to just agreeing with Shelby. “Yes, they are.” This is about as much as she can handle, right now. “I should see if my parents need any help with dessert.”

Shelby lets her go and goes to sit with Quinn and Beth.

Rachel watches as they interact. She doesn’t even understand why she’s still so sensitive about Shelby. Her parents are the greatest and Rachel certainly doesn’t feel as if she’s missed out on anything, growing up. She’s had support and guidance and love from the moment she was born.

It isn’t really even about Shelby’s relationship with Rachel. It’s about the way she’s treated Quinn. It’s about the fact that Shelby wanted a baby and not the teenager who was reaching out to her. It’s about how Quinn had to work her ass off to even get a second chance, when she was the one who endured so much over Beth’s existence in the first place.

Things are better now and Rachel wants it all to be in the past, but she can’t help that she still feels the way she does. She’s trying, though. She’s trying the best she can.

-

“No peeking,” Rachel says, double checking the scarf that’s covering Quinn’s eyes. They’ve just gotten back from the Eataly cooking class that was Quinn’s birthday present from Rachel and her dads, but there’s still one more thing on Rachel’s list for the evening.

Quinn’s sitting at the tiny table next to the kitchenette in her the studio apartment. There’s a large plate in front of her, full of Rachel’s signature sugar cookies, decorated so they spell out ‘Happy Birthday, Quinn!’ Once Rachel is satisfied that the placement is perfect, she says, “Okay. Now you can look.”

Quinn has had one of the best birthdays of her life. She and Rachel have gotten relatively adept at exploring the city together, and the cooking class Rachel signed them up for was perfect.

She tugs the blindfold down and the first thing she sees is an enormous plate of Rachel’s cookies. She’s usually taken with her girlfriend’s ability to make her feel like the only girl in the world, but tonight especially…

“Rach…” she says, “how are you so perfect?”

“Don’t question it, baby,” Rachel says, nudging Quinn until she pushes the chair out enough so Rachel can sit on her lap. “Just accept my perfection and eat my cookies.” She drapes her arms over Quinn’s shoulders. “I thought about making a cake, but… these are my best and only recipe.”

No one has ever made a big deal out of Quinn’s birthday like this, and Rachel has taken her role so seriously. “I accept your perfection, you narcissist,” Quinn says and kisses her. She wonders if Rachel can see how thoroughly Quinn adores her.

“Good, because I plan on being perfect for a long time.” Rachel nudges her nose against Quinn’s before kissing her again. “So, I’ll need you around to remind me.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, I’m not going anywhere?”

“I know you aren’t, I just like hearing you say it.” Rachel leans back enough to look at Quinn. “And… in honor of your birthday and my absolute perfection, I have some news for you. I’ve been wanting to tell you all day, but it’s my news and it’s your birthday, so I didn’t want to steal your thunder.”

Quinn is suddenly nervous. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Remember the callback I had last weekend? For the summer production of Bye Bye Birdie?” The words are spilling out so quickly, Rachel hopes Quinn can follow her. “I got it. I’m ensemble and it’s Off-Off-Broadway, but I did it, Quinn! I’m in a professional New York show!” 

“You…” It seems to Quinn like Rachel is speaking too slowly. Her words aren’t exactly slurred, but they’re either much slower or much faster than Quinn’s thoughts because Quinn is having a difficult time processing them. She stares at her girlfriend until it registers. “You made it? Oh my god!” She has no idea who moves first, but her arms are around Rachel and she’s holding her tightly. “You made it. God, Rach, I just— I knew you would. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

Her girlfriend is in a show in New York. It’s still unbelievable, on one hand, but on the other, it’s something she always knew would happen, ever since the very first time she set eyes on Rachel Berry. 

She’s crying, not for the first time this year, and so far every single time has been happy tears. It’s almost too much for a person to ask for.


	49. An Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time, this fic had an unfinished sequel where a zombie apocalypse was dropped upon the world and our beloved couple fled NYC on a pink Vespa, only to find that Lima had also been hit hard by the outbreak. That story is no more and will not ever be finished.
> 
> This, however, was always the alternate ending offered up, for those who love happy things and domestic bliss.
> 
> Thank you, gentle readers, for taking this ride.

Alternate Ending

Rachel's favorite Sunday afternoon activity is walks in Central Park. It's worth the endless ribbing she gets from Kurt, but then she knows he likes evenings by his fireplace in the colder months, so they're even on that front.

There's just something about being there, hand in hand with Quinn, cutting across the grass instead of using the paved walkways, until they find a spot to sit with their iced coffees. Quinn likes to hide behind her sunglasses and pretend like she's not watching Rachel the entire time.

It's been half a decade and she still catches Quinn taking in the sight of her. She'll never admit it if Rachel calls her on it, but it's obvious. To Rachel, anyway.

-

Their first apartment together is barely bigger than Rachel's dorm room at NYADA. She makes Quinn catch the first mouse (after screaming "Don't kill it! Don't kill it!") and once it's lured into an old margarine container, Quinn explains that putting the whole thing in the freezer is the most humane way to kill it ("Because, Rach, if we let it go, it's just coming back to make a nest in your shoes.") and then immediately takes Rachel out to a movie, so neither of them have to think about it until later that  
night when Quinn dutifully takes the sealed plastic tub down to the garbage can.

-

When Rachel begins to make a name for herself in the New York music scene, she's still in college. It begins as a temporary gig, filling in when bands or single acts need additional singers, but it isn't long until musicians begin to catch on to the fact that Rachel Berry's voice sounds good singing anything.

Quinn just laughs and sips her 7 and 7, because she's known this, all along. It's about time everyone else caught on.

-

Rachel makes her laugh. Like, that deep from inside, genuine happy laughter. She wouldn't trade it for anything.

-

Rachel wakes up early. It's not that Quinn's a late sleeper, she just insists she isn't programmed to wake up at the crack of dawn.

This makes it much easier for Rachel to surprise Quinn with breakfast in bed, rather than the other way around. The downside is, Rachel's culinary skills are nowhere near Quinn's. After the first few attempts at a romantic breakfast in bed with mildly burnt toast and Honey Nut Cheerios, they agree that brunch is a much sexier mealtime.

-

The first time Beth comes to New York without Shelby, she's nine. Quinn spends a week making sure the apartment is clean and that the apartment is properly supplied with things a bookish nine-year old will enjoy. Rachel volunteers her Harry Potter collection and it turns out that it's absolutely perfect, because Beth forgot her half-finished copy of The Prisoner of Azkaban on the plane.

Quinn makes pancakes every morning and Rachel suddenly develops a case of baby fever.

-

Baby fever loses out to an offer to join the original Broadway cast of a Cat Stevens musical.

-

Wild World runs for the better part of a decade. Rachel makes her exit after her two year contract comes to term, because baby fever strikes, again.

-

They move to Park Slope, because it's cheaper than the city, even though Quinn insists that Jersey would really be the most logical choice, financially. Rachel insists that Quinn is, in fact, wrong and that their children are destined to grow up in the greatest city in the world.

They make it work. They always do.

(The sex helps.)

(So does the fact that Quinn has her eye on a little used bookshop that's looking for new  
management.)

-

By the time the twins start kindergarten, they're already local celebrities. Because, come on, everyone knows the jingle from the Brooklyn Bookends commercial.


End file.
